


have we met before?

by tattletold



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Canon Character Deaths but like everyone is reincarnated, Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Happy Ending, M/M, Memory Loss, Pining, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-01-05 11:19:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21207674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattletold/pseuds/tattletold
Summary: Hubert watched as his friends went into battle and fell, one by one, all for a war that they would eventually lose. But when he wakes up after his own death in a new world where his friends live again, it appears as if he is the only one who can remember their time together now in a world without magic or royals or crests.He copes with the loneliness that comes with an entire extra lifetime of memories by writing them down as stories, published into a novel.Everything is fine until the same man he loved in another life, who he sent to his death, barges in to one of his book signings with claims of plagiarism.





	1. Think They Know You

**Author's Note:**

> they said there couldn't be any happy ferdibert in blue lions route... well they were right and this is my way of fixing it. hubert has been in love with ferdinand since their past life and gets to spend this entire new one pining for a man who can't remember their time together, woo!

While his father insists he go out and play like other boys his age, his mother leans over his shoulder, smiling awkwardly at the crayon drawing in front of him. “Who’s this?” she asks, pointing to a vague red blob that looks as if it might have limbs and a sad face. Its axe is more prominent than the rest of the figure.

“The emperor,” he answers without looking up from his drawing. In his hand, a dark black crayon runs repeatedly over the page to carve out another figure next to the first.

“Is this you?” she asks, amused. Hubert nods. “Are you a knight?”

“Kinda.”

“Why aren’t you the emperor, Hubert?” After all, didn’t all little boys dream of being king, to have power and carry large weapons like the figure in his picture? In comparison, Hubert is small next to the ‘emperor’ and does not even carry a sword.

He shakes his head. “I keep her safe.”

“What’s her name?”

Finally, his crayon stops on the page. He doesn’t look up at his mother, but for the first time finds himself puzzled by the stories that have come so naturally to his head. “I don’t know.”

* * *

He’s twelve when he meets her. She is nine and a rather short thing, her hair tied up in dull brown pigtails that betray the brightness of her smile. The ruffles of her red dress flutter as she teeters up to him, staring up at Hubert with the awe children have for those just slightly older than them.

He knows who she is, as his father told him to be on the lookout for a child of her description. She’s the daughter of someone he works with, someone he’s trying to impress, and so it falls on Hubert to do the same with his daughter. He had resigned himself to letting some little kid chatter his ear off for the entire night, never quite fond of other children--especially ones younger than him.

But everything changes as soon as he sees her.

Everything.

It’s strange, how even as a child who doesn’t even know what he wants to be when he grows up, Hubert’s entire world can shift so quickly. The stories in his head that were once just stories suddenly dawn on him with a frightening clarity that only exists in memories of the day prior. Dreams of dragons and knights and magic he once thought were silly but enjoyed anyway stand before him, manifested in the bright eyes of one little girl who doesn’t even reach his shoulders.

He has seen her face before. He has watched her grow, aided her path to the future by every dishonorable means, and he knows her favorite flower and tea and how she likes her hair braided more surely than he recognizes his own name.

“I’m Edelgard,” she greets happily, eyes open and unassuming as she stares up at Hubert.

_ I know _ , he wants to say.  _ And I have followed you forever _ .

* * *

Once they make friends, Hubert and Edelgard are inseparable. Hubert’s father is pleased with his son for once, given their good relations reflect well on his own business dealings with the young girl’s father. Hubert couldn’t care less about such trifling matters, though. Not when his entire life has changed in an instant.

Edelgard’s mere existence is enough to turn his world upside down. In the stories he came up with in his youth, she stands in intricate definition, brilliant and stunning in her magnificence. All the details he knows of her are proved true as their friendship progresses, and Edelgard is pleased giddy every time Hubert is able to guess her favorite animal or flavor of cake before she even mentions it--sometimes before she even knows it’s her favorite.

Very little else in the world is as important as their relationship, and it isn’t just because Edelgard is so precious to him; it confirms that those fantastical stories and games in his head for his entire childhood are not just so.

They are memories.

As a twelve year old boy, this shocking revelation is both impossible to process and relatively simple at the same time. Acknowledging the existence of previous lives along with that world of magic changes everything about how he perceives the current world he lives in, makes him wise beyond his years as he confronts his imagination as a new source of truth. At the same time, he has had these vague memories all his life, though they become clearer with each passing year. It is not so surprising to find there is truth to them with how long they have kept him company when no family or friends would.

It isn’t as if there is anyone he can talk to about it or anything he can do, either. No one would listen to the ramblings of a child who has doodled pegasi in his notebooks and ‘made up’ incantations for dark magic in his free time. Hubert knows how it would sound. He may be young, but he isn’t naive, not when he has almost thirty years of life returning to him each day.

“Hubert!” Edelgard calls as she runs up to him, her small hands already balled up into fists at her side. He lowers his book immediately to give her his full attention as she skids to a stop in front of him. Even in the shade of the tree they’re under, she is as bright as the sun. “Girls can be emperors too, right?”

Another voice from behind her yells, and Hubert immediately feels his blood pressure rising. He can hardly stand to look at the young boy that joins Edelgard’s side. “No, El, girls are empresses! It’s a different word!” Dimitri says.

Hubert doesn’t bother looking at him as he speaks to Edelgard. “Girls can be emperors. If she is the leader, she can call herself whatever she wants and make new rules. No one can say no to her.”

The answer makes Edelgard’s face light up as Dimitri scowls. He doesn’t have a good response to that answer, and he definitely won’t say anything to upset his sister when she’s already beaming so widely. “See, I told you!”

“Alright, fine! You can be emperor, but I get to be king!”

“Hubert, do you wanna play?”

“What should I be?”

Edelgard reaches down to grab his hands, the book in his lap now long forgotten as he’s pulled to his feet and out of the shade of the tree he was sitting under.

“My knight!”

Hubert knows that his memories are true.

They’re real and vivid in their detail, unmistakable now that he has reunited with the woman he once followed into war and further. That woman never smiled very much, not once she assumed the title of emperor, and he knows it is due largely in part to the blond boy tugging on her sleeve from behind. Even now, Hubert cannot stand to interact with Dimitri individually, knowing what that young little boy is capable of in another life.

But Edelgard, as she pulls Hubert to their backyard, smiles, and he thinks it has been a long time since he’s seen her so happy.

He doesn’t say anything to her about war or betrayals or churches. He doesn’t even tell her that this isn’t the first time they’ve met, and he especially does not tell her the fate that a woman with her name and face suffered in a world far from this one.

Instead, he picks his up a wooden play sword and stands beside her, focused on the bright smile that never leaves her face as she twirls around with brown (not white) pigtails swinging behind her.

He will never say anything.

* * *

For the next three years, Hubert remains by Edelgard’s side. He is her friend, her brother and her escape from the burdens that family places on her small shoulders. He doesn’t see anything wrong with not making other friends, as he truly only cares about this girl he followed to his death in a life prior, but he is happy to see her come out of her shell and create friends of her own.

Life is either cruel or horribly ironic for the people it places in her path.

She meets Dorothea in middle school, and the two are fast friends. After their first meeting, it doesn’t take long before Dorothea is coming with Edelgard and Hubert to study sessions and lunches away from home. She’s surprisingly kind to Hubert, this time, and maybe it’s because he doesn’t treat her with any malice as he may have in their previous life. She makes fun of Hubert’s wardrobe and the games that they play, but she more than anyone is enraptured by any tales of magic and sorcery. 

Linhardt and Caspar are sewn to each other’s sides in this life, too, and Hubert will readily admit he is relieved to see them friends again. Their parents work with Edelgard’s, and they become familiar faces that she looks out for at any of her father’s work events where only Hubert and Dimitri used to play with her. Caspar is more than happy to make friends with new kids, and though he drags Linhardt along with him, Hubert can tell the sleepy child appreciates the company as well.

One by one, it seems the familiar faces from his past life all show up again. Even those he met as enemies on the battlefield appear, all closer with Dimitri than anything, and he finds himself conflicted with how innocent and simple they are in this life. It’s one of the reasons he swears to stay by Edelgard’s side, cautious of anything that might happen between her and her step-brother.

Of all the old friends they meet, one reunion stands out among the rest.

Bernadetta gives herself away the moment they see each other. Her eyes go wide and her feet stop in their tracks once she sees Hubert from across the room. It isn’t particularly unusual for younger kids to be afraid of Hubert’s stoic demeanor upon first meeting, but the “Hubert!” she squeaks out gives him pause. Although it is another one of their parents’ business events, nobody introduced them to each other, and their fathers certainly wouldn’t tell them to look out for each other in particular.

Hubert approaches the small girl with a level stare, watching her eyes dart about the room.

Before she can say another word, he merely says, “Bernadetta,” and those skittish eyes of hers go wide. There is a flash of stunned understanding on her face as the same truth settles in her mind as well.

No further introductions are needed.

For the first time in both of their lives, they have finally met someone who recognizes them.

As it turns out, Hubert is not alone in his memories, and the validation and comfort he receives just from meeting somebody else who remembers that wild, fantastical world is immeasurable. The easily frightened and standoffish Bernadetta immediately clings to his side, and even Edelgard seems surprised watching the two of them escape the busy dinner event and slink off to a darker corner where both of their unremarkable presences can fade into obscurity.

“I thought I was alone,” she says, her voice full of more heartache than a twelve year old should know. “My father took me to see all kinds of doctors to convince me it was fake, that I was cr-crazy… but I knew that I wasn’t.”

“My parents thought I had an overactive imagination to make up for not having friends,” Hubert explains, and it sounds silly even to him. It doesn’t feel as if they are two children sharing secrets. For the first time, Hubert allows himself to indulge in the knowledge that he has memories of a time much older, that he may not have the heart of someone who has only lived fifteen years. The twelve year old girl beside him wears the wisdom of a woman who has battled in war, fought for her life and her friends’ for years.

Bernadetta turns to him, a small smile coming to her face.

“Maybe… this is another chance for us, Hubert.”

He furrows his brows in confusion. “At redemption?”

“No, not because of the war, or atoning for what we did or anything, just… getting to live again. Maybe even being happy. Does that sound naive?”

Immediately, he wants to say yes.

Then the sound of laughter, beautiful as bells, draws his eyes to the middle of the room where Edelgard has dragged her brother out to dance. Where she is graceful and sure in her steps, Dimitri fumbles, watching her feet intently as she chastises his lack of skill. Hubert can only focus on the tug of the corners of her mouth, lips drawn up into a bright smile.

“No,” he says, not looking in Bernadetta’s direction as he speaks. “Maybe you’re right.”

* * *

By the time they have met most of their old friends, Hubert’s memories have become as clear as the ones he has made in this life. Instead of just vaguely recognizing people and places, he can recall entire battles and even remember people he has yet to encounter in this life. He remembers his thoughts and emotions with each coming year, and by the time he is twenty five, it is as if he has merely woken up in this new timeline with perfect recollection of his previous life as if it was merely yesterday. As his twenty fifth birthday passes, there is a strange melancholy that settles in his bones, knowing he has finally reached the age he previously died.

The war is as vivid and real to him as his time now in college, sitting down for tests and meeting with professors with the same mind that once dismantled entire noble families and ran a spy network that spread throughout the continent.

He remains by Edelgard’s side and watches her grow into the same strong woman he once swore to serve his entire life, now free and unrestrained by the terrors of war. She flourishes in this new world where she is not bound by royalty or cursed with traumatic experimentation, and as she finds a new purpose and battle of her own to fight, Hubert follows her every step with overflowing pride and happiness.

In this world, his emperor is strong.

In this world, his emperor is free.

In this world, his emperor can smile.

There is nothing else that is quite as important to Hubert, and by twenty five, he feels as if he has already accomplished his life’s sole purpose. He follows Edelgard into law, advancing through school quicker due to his age, and paves the road for her career ahead of time.

There is remarkably much less work for him to do in this new age, no longer needing the grit and secrecy of spies for their new goals, and it leaves Hubert with a good amount of time on his hands. Unsurprisingly, it is Edelgard who gives him direction once again.

“Why not write down your stories?” she says one day over coffee, smiling easily as she does most days.

Hubert actually falters in surprise, caught off guard by her words. “My… stories?”

“Yes, don’t you remember? When we were little, you were so creative and would tell us stories about knights who flew on the backs of pegasus, or wizards that controlled different magics, all sorts of things. Dimitri and I were absolutely fascinated with them back then--perhaps you should try writing.”

It’s true that he would entertain the two children with vague tales of the previous world when they were young, but he’s honestly surprised to hear that Edelgard even remembers such silly things. Part of him is even ashamed, given he would later vow to never expose her to that dark world of their pasts as long as she was smiling in this new life of theirs.

But perhaps there is some merit to her suggestion. As detached as he tries to remain to the actual events of his past, the fact that Hubert holds the memories of an entire life, an entire world that only one other person knows about is… lonely in a way he would never admit to anyone aloud. It is an entire lifetime he can remember vividly, could detail and recount with terrifying clarity that simply does not exist to most anybody in this world.

There is an appeal in being able to share that dead world with those of this time, he thinks. Even if it is merely fiction, if there is a way that he could share his lady’s story, their war, their battles, their triumphs and their failures--maybe it could offer some relief to their unsatisfying demise.

Although he doesn’t bring it up again, Hubert keeps it in the back of his mind for the rest of the day.

He opens up a blank document on his laptop when he gets home, and without any planning or need for an outline, the voices of a world long since passed are given life once more.

* * *

There is a number of uncomfortable topics that Hubert is forced to address in his writing. He must confront the horrors of his first family, relive the tragedies that befell them, even the very moments leading up to his own death. He recounts every time their comrades fell and the subsequent funerals that followed. The slow downfall of their army and the woman he devoted his entire life to.

But those are why he writes, and they don’t bother him as much as he expects.

The memories that give him pause are of bright orange hair layered over a wine red cape. Freckles that only appear on sunny days, and a smile that lights up the room even when it’s cloudy outside.

Hubert has reunited with many of their friends, and even more of their enemies. Some of their comrades, like Petra or other allies they did not attend school with, continue to elude him. But he must admit to keeping his eyes searching for a certain shade of orange in the crowd, a certain apprehension in his chest each morning when he wakes up wondering if today might be the day he will be confronted by the feelings of a man long since died.

There has always been one person he missed more than the others. One who escaped his dreams as a child, and even in those vague encounters of memories not yet clear, he could feel his heart begin to race. It’s a strange thing, to grow up with the memories of fondness for a man he has never met, even before discussions like sexuality were even relevant.

But just as he was relieved to meet Edelgard as a child, Hubert would watch the crowds that passed by each day intently. He searched, idly, for the one missing piece that grew sorer in his heart with each passing day.

He still writes about him. Hubert doesn’t leave out any details.

* * *

Bernadetta cries when her copy of the book arrives. She invites Hubert to her house for tea, and the entire time they hardly speak. She simply reads the book while he sits in her room at her desk, watching as tears silently pour from her eyes and the hand covering her mouth trembles.

He stays for hours, long after the tea she prepared has gone cold.

Only once she’s finished the book, all in one sitting, does she meet Hubert’s eye and weep openly. Her hands hover in the air, unsure for a few moments, before she decides to throw caution to the wind and crosses the space between them to envelop Hubert in a tight embrace.

In the end, she doesn’t say anything about it at all. She doesn’t talk about the main character Eleanor, or her retainer, Hector. She doesn’t talk about the war that they fight, their ideals clear and built from the very beginning of the novel that starts with Eleanor’s childhood. 

Critics and reviewers will praise the lead character’s resolve, will admit to crying out of sympathy for her struggles and fight for justice. They will relate with all of the characters and gush about how realistic each of them are, their ideals so real, so honest, you would believe they were breathing people.

But even though Bernadetta doesn’t say anything, her review says more than anyone else's ever could.

* * *

“Your novel is becoming quite popular, Hubert.”

“Surprisingly.”

“It isn’t a surprise. It’s a beautiful story, I think. I know I was touched when I first read it, I wasn’t able to put it down. It deserves all the praise you’ve received and more.”

“...is that so, Edelgard?”

“It is. You should be proud.”

“I see. Thank you.”

* * *

The book does… better than he expects, and even as he sits at a table in the town’s largest library doing signings, Hubert still finds himself surprised by this new direction his life has taken. Even stranger is the amount of people that actually  _ show up _ , some of their copies of the novel already worn with multiple readings. He can only sit in awkwardly stunned silence as some fans prattle on about his work with lavish words and compliments that he by no means deserves.

It is good to know their story is being received and will not be lost to time.

It is odd to receive full credit for it.

“Eleanor is an amazing character, she’s inspiring!”

“Dominic is such a great antagonist, I cannot wait to see them fight!”

“How is Hector so devoted? Is his relationship with Eleanor romantic?”

“Camron is absolutely hilarious, he needs more dialogue with Leonard!”

He signs each copy dutifully, thanking them for their kind words as the next reader steps up in line. His publisher said this would be good for publicity, and before the day has even ended they are already scheduling the next signing event in another city nearby.

To be fair, he never intended on writing ever becoming a large part of his career by any means. He is still studying to become a lawyer alongside Edelgard, carving her path for her as he gets a head start on their career. This novel was merely a hobby meant to satisfy some deep, unfulfilled part of him that couldn’t sit still with all his previous memories. It was a coping mechanism. An escape of an escape. Edelgard is the only reason he even bothered sending it to a publisher, because it couldn’t hurt to make a little money on the side if it was picked up--now, with future sequels already being written in between exams and practice, he’s sitting on top of more than just a pretty penny.

Hubert never thought of how their story might impact other people emotionally until today, now meeting with these fans face to face. He cared about Bernadetta’s reaction, obviously, as she was there to witness the events firsthand. But all of these strangers who have suddenly latched onto his ‘characters’ and confessed to finding inspiration or bonding with them… it’s more comforting than he expected. Perhaps validating is a better word, in a weird way he never thought he would ever need. 

For the first time, Hubert actually feels eager to return home and continue writing for the sake of it. He manages to smile (albeit awkwardly) at the fans who come by, signing their books with a professional flourish similar to the pen he used to write away prisoners’ lives. He can’t help but wonder what Edelgard would think if she could see him right now, actually enjoying himself.

Everything is going quite well until he hands back one young woman’s book and somebody new steps up. Before he can even look up at the man, another copy of his own book is being slammed down on the table in front of him with a loud ‘boom’. His pen is sent clattering to the floor beneath the desk as all other voices in the room fall hush.

“As I thought,” he says, speaking far louder than anyone in a library ever should, “you are just as much of a shameless wretch as I expected!”

Hubert isn’t surprised by the sudden outburst. He hardly even cares that he is being insulted, both personally and professionally at his own event. It doesn’t matter to him either way that this wouldn’t go smoothly the entire time.

No, what makes Hubert freeze in his seat, unable to even bend over and pick up his pen, is that he recognizes the voice yelling at him with reckless abandon. As his eyes slowly wander up the figure of the man before him, he feels his skin begin to crawl.

It is the same orange hair that Hubert has searched for his entire life. 

His eyes hold a passion that nobody in this or any other life could hope to match. 

His voice, booming and obnoxious, is equally charming in its exaggerance.

In their first life, it took Hubert years to come to terms with his feelings for the man. Now it has taken another lifetime to find him again, and those emotions swell in his chest at once as if they had never left.

He loved him. He loved him. He loves him even now with only memories of fleeting moments passed in another far off world to keep his cold heart beating.

A part of him has always loved Ferdinand von Aegir. It never forgot, and he knows that these feelings would most definitely carry on into their next life and whatever lives they may be cursed with after.

Hubert stares up at him, dumbstruck in awe, and is only broken out of his reverie by a loud smack as the man slams his hand down onto the table, hip jutting out pretentiously to the side. Hubert jumps with surprise at the sudden noise, glancing between the book and the man’s fiery expression. 

Ferdinand looks down at him over his nose, chin tilted up haughtily.

“To think somebody could be so--so unabashedly  _ brazen _ as to plagiarize an entire novel!”


	2. Think They Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG uni is so hectic this semester :( but i'm hoping i can update more regularly from here on out!! i'll also be getting to replying to comments soon too bc im the worst at that, but i read each and every one!!

“You have everything prepared?” Hubert asks, not announcing himself as he stands in the doorway of the stable stall. He seems to catch Ferdinand off guard as the general visibly jumps and whips around to face his intruder. His face, always so open with each emotion in his expressions, easily morphs into a smile at the sight of him. He is one of the considerably few people who would  _ relax  _ at finding it is Hubert standing behind them.

“Hubert,” he greets warmly and turns to face him fully. “Yes, I have just finished making the third check on my steed’s armor. Everything is in place, and we will be ready to ride at sunrise.”

“Good, I expected no less of you.”

A small laugh, almost like bells, pours from Ferdinand’s lips as he adjusts the bags over his horse’s saddle. “And yet here you are, checking up on me? Or are does Edelgard have you to do so little these days that she sends orders to check each general personally?”

“You know just as well as I that her Majesty is busier than ever, as of late,” Hubert says with little humor in his voice. Ever since the professor reappeared, they have had an unfortunate track record on their charges. It isn’t anything that any lay soldier would worry about, per se, but for those at the top with power in charge of strategizing these very attacks that have been falling through--Hubert himself has been suffering from a lack of sleep, too.

A hand suddenly falls over his shoulder, startling Hubert from heavy thoughts as he looks up to meet Ferdinand’s eye. He’s somehow still smiling, an infuriatingly easy thing for the bright man. “Worry not, good friend; I will not bring failure to our forces. You know just as well as I that I have only brought success where my name follows.”

Hubert rolls his eyes, but a smile comes to his lips as well. “As promised, I will not be complimenting you outside of writing lest the shock affect your performance on the battlefield.” Ferdinand lets go of him, and he instantly misses the warmth on his shoulder. “Admittedly… I came to check on you without orders. As a friend.”

It’s almost offensive how surprised Ferdinand seems. Almost, and then his shocked expression turns into another smile. It’s different this time, though, not quite as bright as it is soft, his eyes lidded almost sadly as he just… watches Hubert. Ferdinand doesn’t say anything, and Hubert doesn’t do anything, but they stand three feet apart and stare at each other anyways. Perhaps it should be awkward. Hubert is too preoccupied committing the shape of Ferdinand’s lips to memory.

From where he is facing Hubert, the sun has just begun to rise behind him. It is a sign that very soon, the capital will be coming to life and bustling with soldiers preparing their battalions. Ferdinand will leave on horseback, mane flowing behind him majestically in the perfect image of a leader whose men are more than happy to follow him. He will cut a striking figure against the horizon in the spitting image of strength and nobility.

But the sun hasn’t risen yet, and the capital isn’t awake yet. The morning is still quiet in these early hours, and as the first streams of orange light pour over the paths leading to the stables, they catch on Ferdinand’s figure. He is not on his steed, and he is not dressed in armor. On the ground like this, he is shorter than Hubert (just barely), and his long shadow catches the toes of Hubert’s feet.

He may not be the portrait of a hero of legend right now, but Hubert cannot help but lose his breath anyways.

Ferdinand has always had such an effect on him. His hair that calls the fresh sunlight home, the softness in his eyes reserved only for those in their inner circle, and the almost nervous smile playing at his lips--it isn’t that he would be unrecognizable to others, no. Ferdinand smiles to all, is a beauty to all with eyes. But very rarely is anyone gifted the opportunity to receive the full, concentrated brunt of his attention.

Hubert can barely hold his eye. He manages just as Ferdinand opens his mouth to speak. His voice is not its regular boom and bass, quiet here in the secret that morning’s shadows tend to hold. 

“I wanted to ask if you… would be here to greet me, when I return?”

He hears his words, but Hubert still finds himself absorbed in floral thoughts of light catching on Ferdinand’s cheekbones with every breath he takes, or the glimmer in his eye that he wants nothing more than to step forward to appreciate more fully.

Maybe it is shame or embarrassment on his own part that causes Hubert to speak dishonestly.

“It is part of my job to receive every returning march,” he says, ignoring the tightening of his own chest. “I will be here regardless.”

_ I will always be here _ goes without saying, and he hopes it doesn’t need to be.

But something minute changes in Ferdinand’s face then, his chin lowering marginally as the corners of his mouth falter.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert approaches. Just as he takes a step forward, Ferdinand stops him by lifting his head and dazzling him with another bright smile.

“No, it is nothing--there is something I felt I should say, but I think that is actually what I probably needed to hear most. Yes, I promise I will return with triumph and honor to the empire’s name as always!” He crosses a hand over his heart as he says it. As the sun continues to rise, Ferdinand’s shadow grows, slowly encompassing more and more of Hubert’s figure. “And when I come back, I would like to speak with you. Seriously, as friends.”

Hubert smiles back at him with more than a hint of exasperation. “Then return posthaste. What we need is a victory, not for you to play games in keeping me waiting.”

“Allow me the rare opportunity to tease you this once, dear friend. I will be back in Enbarr before you know it!”

“It does not count if General Ladislava is dragging your corpse back.”

Ferdinand throws his head back with a loud laugh. At the same time, the clocktower that hovers over Enbarr sounds, and Hubert curses the hour merely for how it obscures the sound of Ferdinand’s laughter.

* * *

Thirteen.

That is all it takes.

Thirteen days, and thirteen words

“General Vestra, we have news from the battle at the Bridge of Myrddin!”

* * *

Hubert spent the first twelve years of his life waiting for him, and the next thirteen searching. With how his memories worked, it took until adolescence for him to have a grasp on the names or associations of the people in his memories. Unless he met with them in this new life, he was unable to connect faces with names and voices, only vague images and the ideas of people who played a part in his life than actual characters. Such was with Edelgard, who he could recall being a central figure. Yet when he knew her name, he could not remember her face, and when he dreamed of her face, her name was lost to silence.

The image of a bright young boy with orange hair was not so far off in importance from that dazzling emperor. He remembers meeting him in their youth, and as Hubert grew up in this new world, those memories of him grew as well. It wasn’t always chronological, unfortunately.

When he was eight, he remembers dragging a boy slightly younger than him out of trouble in the stables.

When he was twelve, he remembers sitting together in class, staring daggers at each other.

When he turns fifteen, he remembers a waterfall of amber locks flowing down his back accompanied by a smile that does thing to his heart in puberty.

When he turns eighteen, he remembers seeing him ride a horse, twelve, for the first time.

Although it should be confusing, this is the natural progression of thought for Hubert, and it is all he has ever known. It isn’t until he met Bernadetta did he realize how concerning or puzzling it should be, how many headaches he should have when a new recollection suddenly appears in his dream, and yet it isn’t.

They are still his memories, and they fit right in with the rest of his new life.

Somewhere along the lines, memories of feelings establish themselves as well. At first it is simply that he is fond of the memories he has with that certain man, and only once he’s older does Hubert recall the emotion more clearly.

“Have you ever had a crush on someone, Hubert?” Edelgard asks one night when they’re sixteen and in the height of high school drama. He knows why she’s asking, and he’s seen the looks that she’s given to the same girl his emperor had fallen in love with during the war, but he cannot help but think on the question seriously for himself.

Instead of any of the other boys or girls from school, his thoughts are immediately drawn to a mere concept of orange hair and freckled skin. “Yes,” he says, and Edelgard whips her head around to stare at him in open-mouthed shock. It comes as just as much of a surprise to him.

Even more so is the realization that comes seconds later; he hadn’t just had a crush on somebody, he was in  _ love _ .

From then on, Hubert shamefully indulged in the innocence of youth that was stolen from him in his previous life. He dreamt of what it might be like to finally reunite with that special person whose name was just on the tip of his tongue most days. They would see each other on the streets, and they would both recognize each other (because Bernadetta remembered, so why wouldn’t he?) and maybe even rush forward and embrace, justified in his sappiness with the weight of an entire life and both of their deaths between them.

Or maybe they would meet in some casual setting, quiet and natural, and they would look up and smile knowingly at each other. They could reach out and find each other’s hands, because it’s fate they would find each other again, and they could pick up right where they left off before the flames of war stole them from each other.

The more Hubert remembered, the more it hurt.

He wanted to tell Ferdinand everything he had not been able to. He wanted to be open, to be honest and forthright in a way his obstinance had prevented in their past life. He could swear to be more straightforward, to not take anything for granted as the years go by and that man he remembers loving so ardently remains out of reach. He finds the feeling growing stronger each year, waiting for that moment he could finally right all the foolish wrongs of his past life and finally commit to his feelings openly, to pursue happiness with both hands--

“As you can see, your description of wyverns is almost  _ exactly _ the same, word for word! Look, even this detail about the saddles that pegasus riders would use on their steeds is the same, and you mean to tell me you  _ have not ever _ read my blog before? This is an absolutely shameless display of--are you listening to me?!”

Hubert doesn’t look up from where his head is lowered, rubbing his temples behind his hand. “It is impossible not to,” he says, entirely exhausted. Hubert parts his fingers and looks through them.

Across the table, Ferdinand is sitting hunched over his laptop, pointing at different scribbles and doodles he had uploaded online like a madman. His face is scrunched into a furious expression that hasn’t changed from the moment the two of them sat down in the library’s cafe.

Unsurprisingly, Ferdinand had made quite the scene when he ran up to Hubert’s table yelling about plagiarism this and plagiarism that. Everyone behind him in line (and throughout the library) all seemed rather interested to hear his claims until he actually started speaking about what it was Hubert had copied--his  _ dream blog _ . Immediately, everyone within earshot snickered, looking between the two of them incredulously and giving Hubert a look of sympathy as if saying  _ ah, this must be something  _ real  _ authors have to deal with, isn’t it? _ A staff member of the library even came up and asked if Hubert wanted Ferdinand escorted out, which the latter did not react very well to.

But just how could Hubert go on normally, now?

He pretended to be noble and entertain the poor man’s fancies during a break. With that, he ushered Ferdinand to the back of the store to a rather quaint little cafe whose tender atmosphere is ruined by the man’s incessant prattling.

This is not the reunion he had dreamed about. But it is perhaps the most fitting.

“Are you even taking this seriously?” Ferdinand fumes, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans back. “I understand that this may be funny to you as somebody who has already profited off the works, but this is no laughing matter!”

“I am not laughing,” Hubert says and lowers his hand from his face. He reaches out to pull the laptop closer and scroll through it on his own.

In reality, his heart is racing, and he can only hide the shaking of his hands behind the laptop’s screen.

The ‘work’ that Ferdinand is claiming that Hubert plagiarized isn’t another novel, but a blog Ferdinand himself has been writing. It’s a personal thing, not one he uses to amass any sort of following or with any purpose. However, of the regular life updates he posts, one type receives more attention than others; his dreams. Ferdinand has been detailing his dreams online for the past three years now, with some posts coming days in a row while others have entire months in between. They all describe dreams that seem to take place in the same world, some fantastic time with strange beasts and magic, things of that sort. They’re only curious for how consistent they are, as if they were constantly recurring in the same odd dreamscape.

“There are details present between both of our work that is unmistakable, you understand that, right?” Ferdinand continues, watching as Hubert scrolls through the blog. “Making an academy out of a monastery, the emperor in red, all the monsters and that great white dragon--all of these are present in your novel after I have posted about them online!”

Hubert glanced up as the rant continues.

His hair is long, just like it was at the end of the war. He wears it tied up, now.

"I have been using this blog for years to record my dreams, and while I never intended to use it for anything besides a di--a personal journal, it is still blatant theft!"

Hubert knows it's the difference in time period, but part of him is still shocked to see Ferdinand in such light clothing. A button down and cardigan. He had guessed how he might dress in this world, and yet he's still surprised. Even though he’s lived in this new age for so long now, he still feels scandalized by the sight of his wrists and has to divert his eyes from his hands.

"Now while I cannot claim to have come up with these ideas personally, I am still the person who holds them and has first claims to them online. Everything is still properly credited, and even if a lawsuit does not go through, it is enough to drag your name through the m--"

He's the same.

He's so wonderfully,  _ annoyingly  _ the same.

In another world, Hubert would argue with him and brush him off. He would call him a petulant noble, a spoiled brat among men, and avoid him for as long as he could.

But this is not that world. And he cannot lose this opportunity to immerse himself in that kind warmth only Ferdinand von Aegir could offer once more. If he wants this interaction to not be a passing moment, a fleeting meeting that will disappear once they walk out of the store, Hubert will have to act. He’ll have to entertain these fantasies. 

"I have them, too," Hubert says suddenly, cutting Ferdinand off. The young man is obviously taken aback and offended to be interrupted, but Hubert simply speaks again. "These dreams. I have them too. It is where this novel came from… fantastic visions in my sleep."

There’s a visible change on Ferdinand’s face, and then another as he processes Hubert’s words. Hubert watches him shift from surprise to confusion to anger and happiness before settling on a completely neutral expression. Ferdinand clears his throat as he composes himself with a sip of the tea he ordered from the cafe.

Once he sets it down, he looks back up at Hubert with a furrowed brow.

“Do you truly take me for such a fool?”

Hubert stops, momentarily shocked.

It gives Ferdinand enough time to get another word in. “I realize my claims may sound ridiculous, given that they are based off of mere dreams, but it is very important to me! I have been having these recurring, specific dreams since my childhood, they are almost as true to me as the waking world and why I made the decision to record them. While I was not planning on turning it into a novel or anything, to see these places and details taken and transformed--”

“I was not joking,” Hubert quickly cuts in for the third time. On his lonelier days he could convince himself that he would be happy to listen to Ferdinand’s ridiculous rants for any amount of time again, but experience has proven that even in their reunion he has earned his limits. “I am just as surprised as you to find somebody else with these… certain dreams of this very particular story. You may question me on anything you would like to prove it.”

Ferdinand quirks a brow, obviously conflicted. “You want me to question you on the work that  _ you _ plagiarized? Obviously you would know everything I have posted online.”

“Then ask me about something you haven’t posted. Something you’ve never written anywhere, or about the characters.”

“I don’t remember the  _ people _ specifically, just vague ideas of them.” A pause. “Although, there is one… one person that I seem to remember quite distinctly.”

Hubert’s heart stops, though he makes no outward show of his surprise. 

He doesn’t quite know what all ‘dreams’ entail. He has only ever met one other person with memories of their previous life, and Bernadetta had recognized Hubert instantly. Their experiences were essentially the same, recalling more and more specifics as they grew older, but even when they were young the memories had been vivid. It was enough that as they encountered those they knew in their previous life, they could remember them instantly, like running into an old acquaintance.

But when they first met, there was no similar recognition on Ferdinand’s face. Not in the way Hubert’s own dreams had so teased him of their ideal reunion being.

“Was this person a character in my novel?” he asks, praying to  _ something _ that the answer might actually give him a sliver of hope.

Thankfully, Ferdinand nods. “Yes. They were a character that plays more of an accompanying role in your story.”

An accompanying role--yes, that would make sense, given that Hubert had written the story with Edelgard at its center. She was the protagonist of that world, after all, and no story from Hubert’s perspective would be that interesting.

“But they are the only one I recognize and have talked about before. They are certainly the most mysterious thing to come from my dreams.”

Hubert has been called mysterious no short amount of times, yes. Even though he pretends to be reading the blog posts presented before him, he can hardly focus, mind running a mile a minute to process each of Ferdinand’s words.

Ferdinand, Ferdinand von Aegir. The man he’s searched his entire life for. The man he had loved.

He leans over the table towards Hubert as if sharing a secret, and Hubert instinctively leans in as well. Ferdinand’s eyes are ablaze with a heat Hubert recognizes from their time in the war, or just any particular conversation Ferdinand found himself interested in. He expressed himself quite a lot, after all.

Finally, he says quietly: “The professor.”

And the ice in Hubert’s veins melts.

The images pass through his mind, vividly, as hard as he has worked to keep them out. Of the many people Hubert has still not encountered, he has been the most thankful to have never met Byleth in this new life.

_ And good for it _ , he thinks, hands curling into fists beneath the table.  _ Let them rot in hell for eternity. _

But even if they were not around--why are  _ they  _ the only one Ferdinand remembers?

“Right… the professor,” Hubert repeats, fighting the urge to spit the name out of his mouth. “I did not include many details about them in my novel.”  _ Because scum like that doesn’t deserve to be immortalized _ .

Ferdinand nods along without any visible clue of Hubert’s plight. “That’s right, but to me, that person is the one whose face is the most vivid. You say that your work came to you in  _ dreams _ too, but do you remember them well?”

Hubert’s lip twitches. “Yes.”

“Then what color are their eyes?”

They flash in Hubert's mind. He could never forget. The eyes that stared him down as they met on the battlefield, that Edelgard mourned for their betrayal. They watched as they killed their previous classmates, eyes unmoving, empty and soulless as they cut the imperial army down one by one. 

Hubert had once thought of himself as a monster. He learned during the war that wasn't true, not in the slightest when people like the professor existed. They humbled Hubert's inky black heart in a way that should have been comforting but only served to terrify him. That someone like them could live in this world. That someone like them was what stood between Adrestia and victory.

Those eyes were the first thing to ever make Hubert feel fear.

"Lilac," he says, watching as Ferdinand's eyes widen at the answer. Before the man can speak, Hubert continues. "Then green."

"'Then?'"

He nods. "They changed when the professor… changed in the war. Their hair changed, too. From blue to light green, much like the archbishop's."

Ferdinand lowers his head, staring somewhere deep past the grains in the table as he mutters to himself something that sounds a lot like "so that's what it was…"

Then his head snaps back up as he meets Hubert's gaze head on.

"You aren't lying, then?" He asks, gripping the edge of the table tightly. He leans farther over the table. "Truly? You actually have had the same dreams as I?"

Hubert swallows past a knot in his throat. "Yes," is all he can manage, but it appears to be enough. Ferdinand instantly lights up, shock morphing into delight as his face splits into a bright smile that does a number of things to Hubert's unsuspecting heart. He smiles, and he looks down, then glances to his computer, biting his lip to try and hide the expression before giving up and confronting Hubert with the full force of his glee.

"I apologize for how I acted earlier--but surely you can understand where my concerns developed! To think that somebody… somebody else has shared these strange dreams, it's just irrational!"

It is, so much that it isn't true at all. In all the people Hubert has met, nobody has ever had any memory besides Bernadetta. To have vague dreams and only remember pieces, for it to be Ferdinand specifically--it is more cruel than it is irrational, isn't it? Hubert bites the inside of his cheek as Ferdinand speaks, unable to say anything as the other prattles on about how strange he always thought his dreams were.

Some cruel god planned to torture Hubert, placing the man he had loved so fervently and truly in front of him now, the singular rule breaker in the peaceful life he had made. There's no accounting for Ferdinand. There's never any accounting for Ferdinand, and he cannot tell if he is grateful or in agony.

A piece of paper is slid beneath Hubert's hand, jerking him from his thoughts as he looks down. It is a phone number.

"I am Ferdinand Aegir, by the way," the man across from him says, still smiling, still bright as the sun. He offers his hand across the table for Hubert to take. "I would love to get to know you better and talk more about our experiences!"

He stares at the hand as if it were alien and glances between it and Ferdinand’s face. He appears so genuine now, all malice and suspicion from earlier quickly forgotten in favor of accepting a new ally in this strange little world they’ve found themselves in. Hubert looks back down at his hand. 

Ferdinand’s wrist isn’t as pale as he imagined. But what else does he have to compare to?

Hubert takes his hand in his with a small shake. It might be the first time their bare hands have touched, he thinks in the back of his mind.

It’s warm.

“Hubert Vestra. A pleasure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for the support so far, the attention just this first chapter got has been incredibly surprising but really nice. i love u all individually very much and cant wait to keep writing this one.
> 
> next up: edelgard and bernadetta things
> 
> come talk on twit i lov ferdibert [@dreisang](https://twitter.com/dreisang)


	3. Think You're Mad as Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last slow chapter, everything after this will be the plot finally rolling, there's just surprisingly a lot to establish with two characters that have never met but like also kind of met before
> 
> anyways ill stop making excuses for myself, thank you for reading and leaving comments as always :>

Edelgard has never been one for following customs as is traditional. In all things, she has always gone about what is suitable for her and her ideals, and it is one of the things Hubert has always respected about her in their past life, this life, and likely each one to come. Her conviction remains as solid as ever in whatever world they walk. It is not that she purposely goes out of her way to rebel against the norm, but she is fully committed to being herself in all things. It’s a beautiful thing. A remarkable thing. 

And Hubert could not be more honored to be the man of honor at her wedding.

“Do the sleeves look better than last time?” Edelgard asks, glancing at Hubert in the mirror as she tugs on the white lace covering her wrist.

He nods. “Much better, it fits perfectly now. But are _ you _pleased with it?”

Edelgard falls quiet as she looks herself over in the three-sided long mirror standing before her. This is her second dress fitting now, and she had practically panicked herself sick when it did not fit perfectly the very first time. Bernadetta, seamstress she is, had to ask the tailor to step aside just so she could stand up and show Edelgard how it would look next time after proper alterations, easing her worries tremendously. The poor woman wanted everything to be perfect so desperately that the three of them had hung out all day afterward just to calm her down, constantly reassuring her that the dress would be altered accordingly and all would be fine in time.

Bernadetta, sitting beside Hubert, leans around Edelgard’s figure so she can smile at her in the mirror. “I can always take care of anything else that’s wrong, Edelgard, don’t hold back if you aren’t pleased!”

“No,” Edelgard says immediately. Her chest rises with a deep breath, and then she is smiling once again. “It’s perfect.”

Hubert and Bernadetta turn to each other at the same time, exchanging a look of two lifetimes between them.

There is no greater joy than the expression of pure, unadulterated happiness on Edelgard’s face. She is the perfect picture of a young, delighted bride, her gown gorgeous and elegant in how it flows to the floor. It is nothing like the red armored dress she wore during the war, all sharp edges and long skirts to keep people from getting too close to her. They watch as she tucks a strand of light brown hair behind her ear just before she turns on the pedestal and beams at the two of them.

Hubert thinks to himself in the span a moment that he would die a thousand times over just for her to smile like this for even a second longer.

“You look gorgeous, Edelgard,” Bernadetta breathes, and Hubert can hear the tears in her eyes more than he can see them. In the next moment, she is standing and walking towards Edelgard to envelop her in a tight hug. “Dorothea will be stunned when she sees you.”

“Do you think so? She’s practically a _ model _, next to her I--”

Hubert butts in. “Nonsense. You know that she is smitten with you; you could walk down the aisle in a burlap sack and she would fall to her knees crying right there.”

The two women laugh at his words, Edelgard rolling her eyes at her best friend’s overdramatic hypotheticals as always. He has talked her up his entire life, pushing her above and beyond with a belief in her that not even her own parents held. It’s why he of all people is here with her now. It’s why he gets to stand by her side at the altar, to hand her the rings that will connect her and her fiancee to their future happiness.

Bernadetta returns to her seat by Hubert’s side as Edelgard walks back into the dressing room to change, smiling softly at him. “It makes me so happy to see her like this,” Bernadetta says quietly, just so Edelgard cannot hear her from the other room. “Have you thought of who you’ll take with you to the wedding, or not?”

“Ah… I haven’t,” Hubert says, just before a long pause that Bernadetta knows to leave open for him to pick back up. By the time he turns to look at her, the seamstress’s expression has fallen into a mix between curiosity and confusion at the sudden change in Hubert’s demeanor. His smile has completely disappeared.

“Hubert?”

“I found another one,” he says, barely above a whisper that is lost behind Bernadetta’s shocked gasp. Funny, how she is loudest when he is quiet.

She is leaning towards him immediately, her large eyes that were once so fearful and always full of tears widening now in a mixture of complex emotions. Her face contorts jerkily in a collage of different feelings, morphing between happiness, fear, and concern. It’s amazing how she’s able to display so many emotions at once for being such a shy and reserved young woman, Hubert thinks with some irony. “Wh-Who?”

He answers without a moment’s delay. “Ferdinand.”

Bernadetta is silent. He watches, unmoving, as her bright eyes blink rapidly and begin to fill with tears. They are different from those of terror she used to hold, though, and Hubert’s heart does not lurch at the sight of them.

It takes a good moment before she has the mind to clamp her hand over her mouth, using the other to wipe at her eyes. “Ferdinand--our Ferdie?” she asks in disbelief, and the smile instantly returns to her face when Hubert nods his affirmation. “Oh, oh--Hubert! This is wonderful news, that means we’ve almost reunited with everyone and _ why _ is your face so sour like that?”

He doesn’t really realize he’s scowling until she mentions it. Surprised at her words, Hubert turns just enough to catch a glance at himself in the mirror before them. It really _ is _ a horrendous expression, lips in a taut line with brows furrowed together. It is strange, to see his own face betraying the emotions swirling in his stomach that he had not even identified yet, and he makes an attempt to smooth his features back into neutrality. He did not think he felt sour. He does not think he _ should _.

Because her words are true--they have found Ferdinand von Aegir, and the number of their beloved comrades they have reunited with has gone up by one. Ferdinand, their friend, their partner, one of the brightest in their ranks and an incredibly dear part of their army. To even see him again should be a gift in and of itself worth thanking whatever higher power has placed them in this strange new world together. To meet him is a miracle.

But it isn’t that simple, is it?

When Hubert sees Edelgard, living in their day to day, he sees his beloved Emperor. He sees the woman she could have been as much as she is the woman from back then, smart as a whip, strong beyond all measure, and beautiful in her brilliance. If she decided to leave now, disappearing with her soon-to-be wife, Hubert could at least be content that she has found happiness in this new life of theirs.

But when he sees Bernadetta, there is more to their new relationship. While she is also a great friend of his, in this life and the last, she has an understanding of Hubert that nobody else will ever grasp. It goes both ways, of course, as the two of them are forced to rely on each other for a sliver of sanity in these strange times between times between lives. They need each other, odd as it is to admit, and he could not see going through this world without some partner who is capable of understanding him. The fact that it is Bernadetta who he was already rather close with is a bonus.

Ferdinand, however, does not fall into either category. He is not one of their friends who has lost all his memories, essentially a new person who is living the life they deserve in this world. But he does not know enough for Hubert to pick up where they left off in their previous world, not enough to quite rely on as he does Bernadetta. He does not know the war they lost. He does not know all the friendships, the bonds with others he has been missing the past twenty years.

So he tells Bernadetta such, explaining the circumstances of their meeting and watching as her delighted face slowly sobers into a somber frown.

“He only… partly remembers?” she repeats in confusion, shoulders hunching as that same reserved demeanor of hers creeps back in with the strange news. “That’s never happened before… do you think it’s permanent?”

Hubert’s brows furrow. “Permanent? What do you mean?”

“Oh, I-I don’t know, I’m just rambling!”

“No, please, Bernadetta, continue.”

She bites her lip. Her eyes dart between Hubert’s face in the mirror and the door Edelgard disappeared behind, making the decision to speak quickly in a hushed tone. “I mean, like, maybe something just messed up along the way? Like, he was supposed to be like us and remember everything, but some kinda… glitch happened that messed things up. But it shows he’s _ able _ to remember, right? I don’t know, actually, you probably shouldn’t listen to me.”

Except he does. He does, and Hubert feels something close to hope begin to blossom in his chest. It’s not that he hasn’t been hopeful before, given he’s spent decades searching for Ferdinand, but those were all fantasies of ‘what if’s and ‘how about’s. He never actually expected Ferdinand to remember their time together. To hold onto such a dream would ruin him, given the chances were so slim.

But now the impossible has occurred, and he’s been given hope again--or maybe it would be more accurate to call it a _ chance _.

“Maybe,” Hubert begins tentatively, “his memory could be jogged, and he might remember like us?”

“It’s not definite, but it could be a possibility?”

“Yes. A possibility.”

A possibility that rolls around his head for the rest of the day, turning into nights left awake as he considers the fact.

The idea of Ferdinand, after waiting for so long, being able to remember him--it is worth more than just a chance. It’s worth everything.

It’s worth nights of planning, of texting Bernadetta and coming up with every pro and con of saying the simplest things. He reviews Ferdinand’s contact in his phone a dozen times a day, thinking of the perfect message to send to begin their correspondence and try to pick up on the failed romance he has yearned for and mourned all his life. As much as he would do anything to have the man back in his life, properly, with the memories of the time they spent together, he would not risk Ferdinand himself.

It takes a week before he works up the nerve and scheme to finally text him.

**Would you like to have tea at my home Wednesday morning and discuss?**

* * *

_ Ferdinand had once told him at length all the components that went into having the perfect tea. At the height of the list, of course, were the materials, the temperature, and everything that he had taught Hubert already about preparing the actual drinks they would be consuming. He was naive to think that would be all there was to it, of course. _

_ “The time of day is important, next,” Ferdinand says partway through their current tea time, glancing up at the sun just beginning to peek over the garden walls. “It’s all situational, depending on what type of tea one would have. For our coffee, especially, it is best to meet at just the hour of morning where the sun is still dangling its feet over the bed.” _

_ “I cannot imagine it would make more difference if we had tea now or an hour before,” Hubert says. “The only reason I suggested this time in the first place was that it would comply with both of our schedules, and I already take my coffee at this time as it is.” _

_ Of course Ferdinand would have some flowery counter prepared. “But is it not a lovely sky? If we use tea time as a small break in the day where we can simply sit and think, considering there would be no other time offered that we _ could _ appreciate such things as the sky or the rose bushes or the weather… well, then should we not find the best time possible to appreciate?” _

_ “As I said, this is the only hour that I am able to take coffee.” _

_ “Fair enough--there is more to tea than just the time, anyways.” _

_ “The rose bushes, too?” _

_ Ferdinand laughs at that. “The rose bushes are a _ highlight _ . Why would you take tea in a cold, damp cellar when you could be blanketed by the sight and smell of the imperial gardens?” He swirls his cup idly, lifting it to his nose to take a deep breath. “The scent of the flowers acts as a compliment to the aroma of perfectly steeped tea--to pay the gardens any less respect and admiration would be an insult to Her Majesty’s palace.” _

_ “You will not goad me into agreeance.” _

_ “You cannot even enjoy the scenery where you drink?” Ferdinand asks with a quirk of his brow, though there is the light of a mischievous smile dancing in his eyes. _

_ “I can. I would not say it is necessary. So far you have provided very little reason for me to take anything more than preference into consideration when drinking coffee.” _

_ “Well, I was not yet finished.” _

_ “Please, do continue with your rambling. I thought you were leading your nonsense with your best foot forward first.” _

_ It comes off as biting, and anyone else might take it as a deterrent--even Ferdinand just a few months ago would have thought the same--but the red haired man continues smiling at Hubert as if it comes naturally. As if it is the easiest thing in the world, part of all his other warfront duties and faculties like breathing. _

_ “Company, of course,” he says. “Company can so quickly make good tea go sour, just as it can make even the most _ bitter _ drink sweet.” _

_ To be fair-- _

_ The weather is quite lovely. Many would think Hubert to prefer all the gloom and dower of rain, but he would much rather enjoy a morning with just a bit of chill. _

_ The sky, as well, is beautiful as the edges of that morning red creep over the sky. _

_ He has always appreciated the hard work the gardeners put into keeping all of the palace in a state of constant, strong, elegant beauty. _

_ And the last time he took his coffee alone… the last time he took his coffee alone was…? _

_ “If you are taking drinks that need to be sweetened, perhaps you should not drink that which is bitter in the first place,” Hubert says into his drink, and Ferdinand just laughs. _

* * *

“You mean to say that you truly _ made up _ the plot of those books?” Ferdinand asks incredulously, eyes wide as he leans over the table.

Hubert’s lip twitches. “That is what _ fiction _ means, yes. Was that your first time stepping inside a bookstore?”

“I am well read! It’s just… surprising to me.” Sitting across from him in the small courtyard, Ferdinand traces the rim of his teacup with a gentle finger. Hubert has noticed that when he talks about his ‘dreams’ that he tends to look away, never making eye contact with whoever he’s speaking to. Right now, he lowers his head to stare into the amber liquid swirling around in his cup, steam lifting into his face and dusting over his cheeks. “I never would have thought to try and make some coherent plotline between my dreams or anything like that. It was only ever merely a world I experienced in my sleep, I didn’t think it could ever be… well, made sense of!”

If only Hubert wasn’t lying through his teeth when speaking, he might be able to relax. As much as he has rehearsed what he would say and explain to Ferdinand (and more importantly, what he would leave out), it is still difficult to speak such false words to his face. No amount of preparation would ever be enough to steel his heart in front of this man, this pinnacle of honesty and light in his life--well, his previous life.

“I have been doing so since I was a child,” Hubert explains as he lifts his own drink, coffee, to his lips. “Instead of taking it personally, I had always viewed them objectively. They were all characters I worked hard to remember, and I gave them life through my stories. When the dreams never stopped, I realized I was old enough and had enough material to simply organize and publish them.”

There is a light in Ferdinand's eyes at Hubert's words, as if he had just been given the singular gift for Christmas he had resigned himself to not receive. Hubert knows the expression anywhere, given Bernadetta had worn the same look when she met Hubert for the first time as children--_ disbelief _. 

"Fascinating, how interesting!" He gushes excitedly. "You have no idea how--well, no, I suppose you do, don't you? How relieving it is to actually _ speak _ with someone like this, normally, about these dreams." Ferdinand holds a hand over his heart, straightening up with a deep breath. "It feels like I am finally acting myself, to be quite honest. And with a stranger, heavens--you must forgive my ramblings."

Ferdinand pauses, then, closing his eyes in what Hubert can only assume is an effort to compose himself. These are strange and desperate times, and he cannot fault the man for acting a frenzied fool to find his otherwise nonsensical dreams have been given some basis of meaning. Hubert sips his drink in silence, providing him the moment he needs before the other speaks up once more.

"It's… strange to be able to speak of these things so openly," Ferdinand confesses in a surprisingly small voice. "These matters of which I have filled so many--childish horse notebooks from my youth with, scribbling pictures in colored pencil."

“Horse notebooks?” Hubert asks with a smile, and Ferdinand frowns at him.

“Yes, I do horseback riding and have since I was a child, so the only thing my parents thought to buy me was horse themed--sue me.”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out as condescending as it does, though it is objectively hilarious to picture Ferdinand drawing pictures of dragons and knights in Lisa Frank notebooks. It’s just so… him. So purely, wonderfully Ferdinand, and it makes Hubert’s heart swell with familiarity for the man sitting before him. The man who still considers him a stranger right now, of course, and may never know the depths of their relationship.

_ Yet _ , says a ghost of Bernadetta’s voice, a mere production of Hubert’s own subconscious and the fear of providing hope in his own voice. _ Yet _.

Hubert moves the conversation along. “I understand, though. My father would scold me once he saw me writing about such things as I grew into middle school, saying I was too old for such childish things. But I could never leave it behind as he said, not when it was so vivid.”

And with that, the smile returns to Ferdinand’s face, as if it’s as easy as breathing. “Yes, precisely! It wasn’t some simple hobby like how other kids might enjoy sports or some cartoon, it was very real to me!”

Realer than you know. 

_ Do you understand? Can you see everything I have done to earn your attention, to provoke my memory in your thoughts? _

_ How I scoured the stores for the perfect rose bushes all week to plant in my yard, just to mimic the ones we took meals between in Enbarr? This tea I have made for you myself, in the same way you would have it prepared? Hitting all the marks of conversations and instructions you would have never believed I remembered, when I can recount every word? _

_ Inviting you at the same time in the morning we would take our tea together, the special scent that only our drinks together makes, between the flowers, how deliberate this simple meeting is. _

_ Are the questions to any of these answers anywhere within your heart, Ferdinand? _

_ Had I ever been? _

“What is it that you do, anyways?” Hubert asks instead, the other questions that torch his mind dying like a mere burn on his lip and slipping into his stomach with another drink of coffee. “You know about my professional career. It’s only fair.”

“Oh! Yes, of course, I am actually in graduate school.” Ferdinand reaches into his pocket as he speaks to retrieve his phone, opening it with a single swipe. “I study history and geography at the university here; I actually just moved into town recently.”

That explains a lot, actually. Ferdinand would not be the first person from their other world Hubert has encountered that lived somewhere else before. It is… somewhat reassuring, actually, that Hubert did not simply miss him somewhere in the streets for all these years. They met at just the right time, as soon as they possibly could. He bites back a smile and stares at his own reflection in his drink instead. He didn’t miss him. Ferdinand’s absence in his life is not by any fault of his own.

On the other hand, what _ isn’t _ offered an explanation is-- “History and geography?” Hubert asks, somewhat puzzled. The two subjects hardly suit what he would have imagined Ferdinand doing in the slightest. Part of him expected to encounter the man somewhere in his and Edelgard’s path as prosecutors, or maybe on the news as some blossoming politician. He never would expect him to take a position of _ research _ instead of action, and in something like history? In _ geography _?

Ferdinand chuckles with a small shrug. “They are not the most interesting subjects to most, I know. But I have my own reasons for pursuing the subject, some research I’ve been working on at the university. You may... actually find some interest in it, now that I think about it.”

“It has something to do with these dreams?” It does nothing to alleviate his confusion, and in fact only serves to befuddle him more. Going into writing was a logical path with such a strange, fantastical world trapped in his head. Bernadetta expresses herself through her artwork and her own writing that she keeps to posting online. Otherwise, the two of them both have normal jobs unrelated to their past lives.

“Unfortunately, I find most of what I do these days has been somehow influenced by these dreams--it’s strange, isn’t it? That something so ridiculous could affect our lives so tremendously, just because it has been present since childhood.”

Hubert’s brow furrows together, immediately turning his lip up. “I do not find it ridiculous at all, actually.”

He says it because he has lived it. He says it because otherwise, it would be to deny his entire basis of reality, of all things right and wrong that he has already lived twice over now. To try and pass off an entire lifetime as simple nonsense would be more than foolishness and beyond insulting to everything he has ever stood for.

Ferdinand, who has never met him, who has never known this, never_ could _ know it. His expression softens all the same.

“Yes, you’re right--it isn’t ridiculous, is it? You… understand that.” Even if he hadn’t spoken about his past experiences with being ridiculed or looked down on for his idle fantasies, Hubert can tell just from how Ferdinand’s eyes dart around how insecure he is in things like this. Understandably, as well; he has been told he is a fool and a dreamer for his entire life, and only now has somebody else been able to provide him the relief of a sound, sane mind. It’s only natural he wouldn’t know where to start.

Ferdinand’s head jerks back up to meet his eye as he brushes a small strand of hair behind his ear. Hubert’s eye follows the movement intently before returning to his face.

“We should talk about something else, perhaps. All things aside, your novel is truly _ fascinating _, I was captivated while I read it even despite the familiar setting!”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Hubert responds awkwardly, unsure of how to respond to praise for the very world they came from even now. It’s one thing to be told how lovely the work is by strangers who know nothing of it, but Ferdinand, who recognizes parts, who makes up part of the core of those works itself… It had been easier talking to Edelgard, somehow. “I’m pleased to hear I’ve done the world justice.”

“And more, I should say! The characters are absolutely vivid, it is so wonderful to see them brought to life, even if I have never had any concrete idea or not for their personalities,” Ferdinand explains, leaning on the table once again. 

At least their old friends are not shallow characters, Hubert supposes. “...Interesting. I suppose they simply came to me.” For better or worse, curiosity gets the better of him. “Did any draw your attention in particular, given your background with the work?”

“Could anybody read that book without loving Eleanor?”

Hubert’s heart swells. Ferdinand continues to talk as he traces the rim of his cup with an idle finger.

“She’s an absolutely captivating character, I thought you _ must _ have pulled her image from my posts online with how strong and commanding she has always appeared in my head. Her ambitions, her values, all of it--she’s quite the tragic protagonist, isn’t she?”

He can only nod. “Yes… it’s because of that adversity she has come from that she is as strong as she is.”

Ferdinand’s eyes practically twinkle, the corners of his mouth curling up even more. “Every character of yours seems to have that same level of detail and care put into them. It’s like stepping into a world of old friends, in a way.”

And, oh, how Hubert wants to _ scream _ and throw aside everything he has spoken with Bernadetta about. This game of playing pretend, acting as if the man in front of him is not the most important man in his life, as if the book he read was not an embellished recounting of their very own adventures. To hear him praise their emperor, to respect and hold her image high in honor even now, could this not be the greatest form of torture ever devised?

As Hubert hides an internal crisis behind the rim of his cup, Ferdinand appears to remember something and speaks up once more. “Oh, that is, except for one.”

“Hm?” Hubert hums on a gulp of coffee, lifting a brow for Ferdinand to continue.

The redhead’s face contorts sourly as he leans further over the table, staring at Hubert as if he is mad for all of a few moments.

“Why is Frederick so _ insufferable _?”

There is little need to worry about how they will meet again, not when Hubert must make plans to return Ferdinand’s shirt from the dry cleaners after he has spat coffee all over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way if the chapter titles don't make sense it's because i'm taking like half a phrase from every other line of the song 'Time Machine' by Mini Mansions. good ass song. give it a listen


	4. Think You're Finally Glad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DIDN'T TAKE AN ENTIRE MONTH THIS TIME, DID I? this chapter was originally supposed to be much longer but i felt a 4k chapter that picks up later is better than an 8k that'll take forever to write and beta. so ta-dah!! big thanks to my buddy Ellie (@atinygayfrog twit) for betaing for me <3

“Dorothea’s maid of honor just came into some financial trouble,” Edelgard mentions one morning as they take their coffee together, meeting at a cafe in between their routines as usual. He doesn’t look up at her as she speaks and hums noncommittally as he takes the time to blow over the surface of his drink. “They’re afraid she may not be able to afford traveling to a destination wedding, and she doesn’t seem keen on receiving any help from my side. Pride, or something.”

“That’s rather immature. She is the maid of honor.”

“I thought so, too, but I also understand wanting to be independent,” Edelgard counters, falling silent as she simply watches Hubert for a few moments before asking, “Do you have a date yet?”

Only then does he glance up at her. “Not since the last time you asked me, no.” And his gaze returns right back down to his phone.

Even though they haven’t met in over a week now, he and Ferdinand have continued corresponding over text. Hubert has foregone all the pushing of his editor and begun slacking off on the work for the sequel to his first novel in favor of immersing himself in ‘reality,’ so to speak. It’s rather easy for him to claim he is waiting for inspiration to dawn on him, that he has to take some time to stew over ideas for the sequel as if the facts of the next ‘book’ have not been brewing in his head for two decades now. 

He reads Ferdinand’s blog as if it is his morning paper, now. Given, he doesn’t update it every day, and when he does it is never anything about his dreams. Ferdinand had told him outright that such dreams come rarely to him, and even when they do, they are vague flashes of images or scenes that he can just barely place before they’re completely forgotten. But posts from months ago, including just the vaguest few sentences about his fantasies, fascinate Hubert.

**Last night, I dreamed of a canyon. I do not remember how we got there, or where we went after, but the rocks were high above us, and the cliffs below even steeper.**

**Some people discuss a common horror in dreams where they are late for tests long after they have graduated, or showing up to school undressed. In mine, I can only see other students worrying over inventory before setting out on horseback.**

**I saw a flower I have never seen when I’m awake before. It was bright red, with yellow around the edges. If only I were an artist I could try to depict it--it was beautiful.**

It’s been five weeks since the last post he made about dreams specifically, though Hubert has backread just about every single page of his blog by now. Ferdinand wasn’t kidding when he said he’s been using it for quite some time--and in the midst of trying to piece together how much Ferdinand knows of their previous world, he has learned much about the life he has lived here in the twenty-five years or so they’ve spent apart.

“If she were potentially your plus one--just for logistics sake, of course--that would account for her plane ticket in our budget,” Edelgard says, and Hubert nods without thinking.

“Mm, it would.”

He’s in the thick of Ferdinand’s old posts by now, over two years deep in personal posts about separating himself from his family and the trials of graduate programs. Nothing he writes is particularly specific about what he does, nor does he go into much detail about his family history, but it’s still… nice, in a way, just to read the unique way Ferdinand feels and thinks.

In a new tab, he refreshes the page out of curiosity, just to see if he has updated anything. The last post he had made was four days ago and it had been more of a life update, not specifically mentioning Hubert by name, but it’s obvious their meeting was the event that brightened his mood.

Hubert’s thumb stills over where it had been steadily scrolling his blog as the page loads--there _ is _ an update, and he quickly opens it. 

His heart instantly stops, and to his great shame, Edelgard’s words become nothing more than a ringing in his ears.

**Last night, I had one of the most vivid dreams to this day, and yet it was so peaceful I found myself not wanting to wake from it. I was having tea in the loveliest rose gardens in the early morning. I can’t recall anything about them, but I wasn’t alone.**

For the rest of their morning, he lets Edelgard do the rest of the talking. It would be impossible to try and hold any semblance of conversation now when the only words playing on repeat in Hubert’s head are, _it worked_. _It is working._ _I am somewhere within you after all._

* * *

_ “Have you finally lost your mind, or were you simply good at pretending you haven’t been a _ complete _ fool this entire time?” _

_ Ferdinand’s brows knit together, obviously unamused by the accusation as he meets Hubert’s judgemental eye across the table. “Must you always deflect to personal attacks, or do you simply not have a good reason for disagreeing with my plan after all?” _

_ “Oh, trust me, I have plenty. Starting and ending with the fact that you obviously have _ no idea _ what you are talking about.” _

_ Ferdinand slams a gloved hand back down on the map in front of him, shoving his finger on a now wrinkled point insistently. “Magdred Way is already one of the most heavily guarded areas between Fhirdiad and Adrestia. There is no need to focus our efforts there when they would know better than to even consider approaching it.” _

_ “And so you believe that the Bridge of Myrddin, one of the most historically sound fortresses that we have had control of for the past five years, never once to be intruded upon, guarded by General Ladislava--you would have us concentrate our efforts _ there _ ?” It is not only an unsound strategy as far as force distribution goes, but ridiculous in concept as well. _

_ It may be true that, ever so gradually, the deranged prince and his professor have been amassing a small force to fight back with. Certainly they have not won every battle, but it is more cause for concern that the _ Empire _ has not won every battle either. Their creep across the continent has been so carefully crafted up until now, and Edelgard had been prepared to finally begin working on her list of plans to save the common people from the prying hands of both the nobility and the Church. _

_ Leave it to that damned Dimitri to undo all her hard work--no, Dimitri has been alive this entire time, he cannot be given full credit. The only thing that has changed between this year and the previous five is the resurrection of that horrid, unpredictable professor. _

_ Before him, Ferdinand heaves a frustrated sigh and shakes his head, orange locks catching and twirling on his armor as he does. “If it is the _ professor _ we are talking about, who just about single handedly defended against Her Majesty’s first invasion on Garreg Mach, then we will need more manpower than usual.” _

_ “You are arguing still?” The conversation is cut short by another voice, and only then does Hubert recognize how absorbed he was in their argument to not even notice the sound of the door opening. He and Ferdinand turn at the same time, but only Ferdinand smiles at their guest. _

_ “Petra,” he greets with a cordial bow that Hubert mimics. The young woman is carrying a number of rolled parchment in her arms and can only return the bow once she has hurried past them and set her cargo on an empty spot at the table. “What is all of this?” _

_ To answer the question, she unfurls one of the rolls and spreads it across the table, revealing the dark lines of a map inside. There is no title at the top, and the scale drawn on is rather messy, but there is no mistaking any of the directions or borders on the map itself. It was made in a hurry, yet a striking amount of detail was considered in its creation. _

_ “Maps?” Ferdinand asks, picking up another roll of parchment and unfolding it in his hands. It is a different setting, on a much smaller scale--but this one has a title. “Gronder Field… Wait, Petra, where did you get these?” _

_ She smiles, proud, and puffs her chest out as the two of them begin unrolling every other map she had brought to find each individual and unique. “I wrote them with Linhardt,” she says happily. “We did scouting together with a small number of men to stay in hiding. Now, can you two stop fighting to talk about important things?” _

* * *

There will never be another place that is as home to Hubert as Enbarr. It is where he first met Edelgard, where they grew up together, and once war was declared, it is where they planned their revolution. It was a love for the people (rather, person) and his purpose there that developed his attachment to the city, and any affection or nostalgia he has for the palace or any surrounding territories came later.

Now with Edelgard by his side again, he finds himself thinking of Enbarr more as a location once more. Hubert learned the streets like the back of his hand, and any streets running beneath it even more closely. He had records of just about everyone who lived in the capital, and though he couldn’t recognize every single person, there were at the very least familiar. Those streets, vendors, and stores became regular locations for him to visit, built into his routine as much as every other hall in the palace. Hubert had command over the area. He had respect, and he had a purpose.

And the palace was beautiful. Of course it was--even more so with a proper Emperor in its halls.

There will never be another Enbarr. But he thinks the university comes pretty close.

In a strangely similar way, Hubert had become accustomed to accompanying Edelgard around campus even after he had finished his undergraduate work. It may not be as grandiose as escorting his Emperor down the halls of her palace giving her reports on the warfront, but Hubert occasionally holds her coffee for her while they walk to the dining hall, and it’s enough. They speak casually, as much as Hubert is able to, and he sees her off to her classes with a smile before returning to his own work. The tall trees of the university do not have carefully crafted mosaics or floor length red curtains, but they become the simple walls and ceiling of a new palace nevertheless.

It’s been some time since Hubert was last needed on this side of campus, and he vaguely wonders if he would have met Ferdinand sooner had it not been for the convenience of localized classes. He figures the same could be said for just about any part of town once Ferdinand had moved here; had he taken more useless walks all the way across the city, had he clicked through Facebook recommendations for a little longer, had he lingered in his and Edelgard’s regular cafe for a little longer… though now that he knows Ferdinand and how he is interacting with this new world, there is little he could have done outside stalking him like a madman.

It’s best they met the way they did, he tells himself. If only it were a bit warmer out.

Hubert’s boots thud loudly against the ground as they traverse campus, the sound carrying into the ocean of other students’ chatter. It’s the first cold day in quite some time, and with the coming of spring, everyone had figured the chill of winter had released them from its grasp for good. There is no change in weather worse than an unexpected one, especially when Hubert had just been about to retire the black trench coat now covering him from chin to thigh.

He doesn’t think Ferdinand got the memo, though, since he’s only wearing a sweater with unmatching gloves as an afterthought. As they walk, he considers Hubert not so subtly from the corner of his eye, and Hubert almost calls him out on it a few times. For all they have spoken up until now about so many different and unusual things, one would think Ferdinand would be capable of starting a conversation aloud.

“You have something on your mind,” Hubert finally says when he catches Ferdinand blatantly staring at his face for what must be the fourth time now. “Just say it.”

Ferdinand isn’t necessarily surprised when Hubert speaks to him, but he straightens his back the second he’s spoken to, as if suddenly aware he had been slouching (he wasn’t). “Ah, my apologies, I was just thinking how… silly I feel even now. It doesn’t go away, does it?”

Hubert’s brows crease together. “We have already spoken in this much detail about that, and you are still reserved?”

“Not on purpose. It’s just that you mentioned you’re studying to become a lawyer, which is so much more of _ real _,” he holds his hands up in finger quotes around the word, “job compared to what I’m doing, which is still so focused on those dreams. I was thinking that if I had done similarly, my father would be much more happy with me now. Not that I regret or am ashamed of my field at all, of course,” Ferdinand laughs, and Hubert decidedly does not.

For a long time, Hubert had imagined that Ferdinand _ would _ be studying law or politics, if their previous life was anything to go off of. The man was practically born to argue with people for some fanciful ‘greater good’ that only people of equally good heart like Edelgard could possibly understand. 

“You forget that I am spending all of my free time writing a series of _ novels _ about them,” Hubert counters. “But, tell me; what does your current field have to do with those dreams?”

Their conversation pauses as they reach the building Ferdinand had been guiding them to--the geography building. It’s the first time Hubert has ever stepped foot inside of the place, having had no classes or other need to visit in the past. There is a delightful gust of warm air that greets them as soon as they open the door, though it quickly becomes uncomfortably too hot within seconds in that way of old buildings that never seem to have any proper temperature control. Hubert removes his gloves and quickly shoves them into his pocket as he takes in their surroundings.

The lobby of the building is more like an atrium, filled with many glass cases that contain all different manner of newspapers in frames, shards of pottery on pedestals, or rocks that Hubert can’t tell the difference between as they walk past. It’s far less formal than any of the law buildings on campus, he notes, though it may be due to the old lights giving off more of a yellow glow than a professional white light.

It’s dead quiet save for the chatter of a few students at the end of the opposite hall. Ferdinand leads them down, and only once they’re out of earshot does he begin speaking again. “It isn’t _ completely _ about those dreams, no. I do have a vested interest in history outside of those fantasies, and they are merely what gave me the trigger pull I needed to pursue the field earnestly.”

They round an open set of double doors into a cemented, much chillier staircase that Ferdinand leads them down. Hubert has half a mind to put his gloves back on and curls his hands into his pockets instead. “You say that as if those _ dreams _, which are still merely dreams, would be able to help you in the real world. I cannot imagine how much fuel they could provide to an actual job besides one that revolves around fiction like my own.”

Ferdinand scoffs. ”Of course I know that. It’s--well, let me think of a way to explain it...”

And then, in much the same way as Hubert had once dreaded, Ferdinand launches into another monologue. Now, though, he feels something like relief and satisfaction set into his bones, as if sitting in bed at the palace with a warm cup of coffee, cuffs undone.

“At my previous university, there was a memorial set up on one of the routes between major buildings. When it was first being constructed, a child from the neighborhood died in a tragic accident. I think about her a lot. Her name is on a plaque beneath the largest tree on campus, and it blooms very beautifully in the summertime. Anyone who visits that area in their free time or even just passes on the walk to class knows her name.”

“This is about why you’re majoring in history?”

Ferdinand nods. “When I was a child, I became somewhat obsessed with the fact there would be lists of people to memorize for each chapter of our history books in school. Somewhere along the way, I started thinking of all the people in those chapters who were named but didn’t need to be memorized. Then it turned into thinking about every person alive at that time who simply disappeared when they died. It made me think about which people would be remembered when they died, and how I didn’t want to be forgotten.”

It’s horribly easy to picture. Ferdinand, no more than knee high, dressed up in some tacky little vest that his strict parents had picked out for him and sitting in an elementary school classroom. How he would wear that same expression of confusion, his face knotted up with a crease in his brow that speaks far too wise of a fifth grader. His parents have already set up his entire life before him. His name is important, and it is all that he has and needs.

But how many other little boys with mean fathers were told the same? And how come people with much less impressive backgrounds have made it into his textbooks anyways?

“Those are heavy thoughts for a child to have,” Hubert says.

They enter another hall at the bottom of the staircase, two levels below the ground floor. Strangely enough, the sign outside the door leading into the hall lists the wing as dedicated to laboratories, of all things. 

Ferdinand holds the door open for Hubert. “They are, and they ate at me for years. It made me look into things like, why those people were so important, or what trends there were in those names we know commonplace today, what sorts of things establish somebody in all of history for life--all born out of a fear of…”

He trails off into silence as they reach the door Ferdinand had been leading them to. He fiddles with a set of keys for a moment before it’s unlocked and he is leading them in, flipping on lights that buzz and whir for a good few seconds before properly turning on.

It certainly doesn’t look like any laboratory Hubert’s ever seen--call it an office, though, and it would fit right in. Ferdinand removes his gloves and scarf then gestures towards a coat rack by the door for Hubert to do the same should he please (and he does).

“This is where I do work with my instructor,” he begins, completely leaving the previous thread of conversation that Hubert had been so worked up in loose. “There’s only two graduate students working down here, so it’s rather cozy. Actually, what time is it… right, we might run into her if we stay long enough. Would you like to take a seat? The most modern thing down here is a Keurig, so I can make some coffee or tea if you’d like.”

Hubert interrupts him. “What were you afraid of?”

It makes Ferdinand stop from where he had been flitting around the room, putting his things down in one chair by a cluttered table while walking to an even more cluttered desk. His face falls, the smile he had been wearing while introducing the lab as if he were some bubbly real estate agent gone, and Hubert can’t help but feel slightly guilty.

But he’s so close. The knowledge of Ferdinand that he once held like a pocket book on hand at all time, memorized to the dot, can hardly be called upon in this new and extreme world. Every dot Hubert can connect is a battle won, the threads between this man and the one Hubert had loved justifying his new obsession pursuing him as if he is more than a simple stranger--or more than any of their other comrades who are living independently of their previous lives.

Ferdinand lets out a slow sigh, suddenly enraptured with something on his desk. “You know, I’ve never--talked this much with anybody about these things before. And to think, that we barely even know each other…”

It stings, festering into a burn that forces Hubert’s tongue. “You’ve read my novel, isn’t that proof that I am equally obsessed with these dreams as you? There is… I would like to know more, if only for my own personal fulfillment.”

How does he say that they _ do _ know each other? That they had for years, and in that time became closer than his own skin?

How does he say that he _ wants _ to know him, when they are still strangers, when he doesn’t want to frighten him or betray his own reserved personality?

Even as Hubert argues with himself, trying to come up with any justification for Ferdinand to open up all of this personal information to someone he hadn’t known not more than a month ago, the other man’s face slowly rises back up into a smile.

“...would you like to see what I’ve been working on?” he says. “It’s relevant, I promise.”

Confused, though not displeased by Ferdinand continuing with their purpose for coming here, Hubert crosses the room to where Ferdinand is standing. The desk before them is an absolute mess, with papers strewn about in any which way, separated in stacks with entire books as place holders. Had Hubert not known before how disorganized Ferdinand is, the only key he’d have to knowing this is his personal desk is a framed picture of his family sitting next to a closed laptop.

“What is all of this?” he asks, trying to read the fine print of whichever paper is nearest. Of all things, it’s an old report on climate change.

“This,” Ferdinand supplies proudly, and he must notice Hubert’s stare because he picks up the paper he was looking at and straightens it out in front of him, “is where the geography double major part becomes important. Do you know anything about Pangaea?”

Hubert momentarily stops thinking, caught off guard by the random question. “...the continent?”

“Supercontinent, actually,” Ferdinand corrects. “It’s not the first one in history, but the most recent. All land on earth as it is today has been formed, reformed, destroyed, separated, and brought back together multiple times since the Earth was created.”

He sets the paper down, and Hubert’s eyes follow it, now noticing the other books and reports scattered around his desk.

_ Paleomagnetism _

_ Reforming Earth _

_ What Modern Fault Lines Tell Us About the World a Billion Years Ago _

“I’ve been working on the reconstruction of a different supercontinent--well, close to one, there’s still some islands that don’t make sense--that may have existed over thousands of millions of years ago…”

With a few messy sweeps of his hands, Ferdinand clears the center of the desk of clutter and reveals the large piece of parchment that had been hidden underneath.

Even with most of it covered at the edges, the title and legend obscured, it wouldn’t take an expert to recognize the lines carefully drawn on the paper as that of a map. It shouldn’t be strange, given there are framed maps of different local regions hanging wall to wall in the office, but it is.

Because for something that should only have existed a billion years ago, Hubert recognizes it. How could he not, when he had orchestrated an entire war between those neat ink lines for five years?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you as always for your patience!! next time...... ferdie continues talking a lot, wait, that's just the same as this chapter, oh well.


	5. Think You've Found the Key

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this entire chapter takes place over half an hour and is just hubert having emotions

_ Hubert smelled the tea before anything. Only because it was freshly brewed could he smell it from the hallway, which concerns him purely for how late it is in the night to be beginning a fresh pot. Then he sees the flicker of candlelight beneath one of the doors (the very room he expected the smell to be coming from) and sighs, exasperated, as he opens it without knocking. _

_ Ferdinand doesn’t seem surprised nor offended by his unannounced entry, looking up from his desk with tired eyes that make the smile on his face all the more endearing in its sincerity. Not many people would be genuinely happy to see Hubert von Vestra in their doorways at this hour of the night. _

_ “You should be asleep,” Hubert says. _

_ Ferdinand blinks slowly, and then he shakes his head. “Unfortunately, I have far more work to do before I can retire. Will you not sleep in my stead, for once?” _

_ He scoffs, amused. It isn’t the first time they’ve talked about Hubert’s late, restless nights, and he shouldn’t be surprised that Ferdinand would bring it up now. “Perhaps instead of sleeping, my time could be better served ensuring you do not humiliate the Imperial cabinet tomorrow when we meet with the noble heads.” As he speaks, Hubert has already crossed the room to Ferdinand’s desk, pulling a chair from the table at the center with him. He can feel Ferdinand’s eyes on him as he sits to the side of the desk and picks up the papers there for observation. Hubert doesn’t meet his eye directly. He hears Ferdinand’s smile, always paired with breath that sounds like half of a laugh. _

_ “Let us make haste, so that both of us may enjoy some modicum of rest tonight.” _

* * *

Hubert’s editor had said there were certain aspects of his novel that would prove too confusing for readers to follow. She had cited other works to make her point, bringing up other classic fantasy trilogies and how they avoided certain pits she was convinced Hubert’s would fall into. There needs to be more information on this class system, for one, as well as all the characters’ families who seem to be mentioned in passing before disappearing into the background.

And more than anything, the geography is too confusing to explain with words alone. Even though they’re his  _ readers _ , many people are more  _ visual  _ learners than anything, and referencing mountain ranges or rivers he’d brought up in passing can serve to be more confusing than clever without some kind of visual aid. With the success of the book, it would cost relative pennies for a commission by a professional to sketch out a map of the region to put in the front few pages. People love maps. It makes the entire experience more realistic, more immersive.

Hubert could. Absolutely he could. He’d drawn those maps by hand hundreds of times before, knowing they would be washed away with flame once they were received by whoever necessary. Even when he was younger he would sketch out those maps that haunted his waking daydreams and draw small icons to go with each area. One section might have castles and doodles of people whose faces warm his chest even if he cannot see them smiling, and then another country (because of course he could remember the borders) would hold swords and skulls and bones.

He never agreed to it, and his editor had eventually given in with a sigh and moved to some different conversation about the chapter headings instead. To include the actual map of that far off world when he already obscured the names of its inhabitants didn’t feel right, like including some strange truths in a novel already built upon half-lies. But changing something as definite and infallible as a map, the geography that shaped their entire world and fought wars through, couldn’t be right either.

So he left it, and to be slightly more agreeable, Hubert made edits to his chapter headings (which were fine in the first place) instead.

There wasn’t any need to make his novel more realistic, more believable; Hubert was never trying to make his readers believe that the world was real. No, he wrote to convince  _ himself _ that everything he’d lived through had not been some fantasy, that if he could recall every event in detail and put it to paper, write it someplace where he could quickly reach it in the middle of the night, frantic and panicked from empty nightmares where it is nothing more than a fantasy--where he can pick up a book from his nightstand, flip through the pages, and remember that he exists--No, it was  _ never _ a book for anyone else.

Hubert spent his entire life up until now convincing himself of his sanity. He confided in Bernadetta who felt the same way. He threw himself into his work serving (helping) Edelgard. He wrote novels to never forget another detail.

It’s never that he believed it was all fake. No, there was never any mistaking how he knew so many people before they’d ever met before, from their names to their favorite teas to the dynamic of their families. Hubert had lived another life before this one. Bernadetta had, too. In this, they had each other.

But never until now has this one particular piece, sitting on a desk in front of him in the basement of some old, dank building on campus, ever occurred to him.

Not only was Fodlan real--it was on this very Earth.

They lived here.

They existed here.

Their lives  _ mattered _ here.

Ferdinand is speaking, then, and Hubert thinks he must have been speaking for some time now, though the words were lost to the ringing in his ears. “You must think me absolutely out of my mind,” he says, chuckling in spite of himself. “But as strange as it is, visions of… of maps, and trails and scenery always stood out more vividly than anything in my dreams. I’ve never told anyone this, but it’s those ideas that inspired me to… I don’t know, try my hand at it? But our world already exists, there is not any need for  _ new _ maps.” Ferdinand turns his head away from the parchment. Hubert meets his eye.

Those sincere, familiar eyes that have existed in this world once before.

“All my research up until now has been trying to find a way to justify searching for another world. The funny part is that it’s working.”

_ Of course you wouldn’t tell anyone else that, how foolish could you be? To go into an entire field of study, to apply and get into graduate school, all to try and justify this image you’ve dreamt up as a child? It’s absolute and utter nonsense. Who would believe you? Who would be stupid enough to try? How could you explain this process to anyone, and how could you ever believe it would be right? _

Ferdinand is still looking at him, smiling and waiting for Hubert’s answer.

Ferdinand, who single handedly found the answer to all of Hubert’s dilemmas, knowingly or not. Ferdinand, who would never be able to comprehend the weight of his actions and what they have done to spin Hubert’s world on its axis--no, if Hubert even had a world of his own, it may have never been rotating in the first place. Only this event has set him into motion, as something like ‘purpose’ (and how long has he gone without that?), slow and seeping like color down a wet page, begins to tinge the edges of his vision. Nothing was ever for naught.

Hubert’s sun still shines in this world, because it is the same world as it always was. 

Before they ever met, before Hubert had even thought to write that silly novel, Ferdinand was building up to this exact point. He lived like a normal person, and studied, and worked. No doubt he excelled at it all, as well. All so that now, at this exact moment in time, a moment that could put words like ‘fate’ or ‘destiny’ to shame, he could show his work to Hubert and rescue him.

He could save Hubert, right when he needed him most.

Like he somehow always did.

When Edelgard was reborn, her soul was likely worn and tired from defeat. Her life up until the very moment she died must not have had many genuinely happy moments like those she has now. Hubert had never (and  _ would  _ never) attempt to bring to light their past to her, not now when she is so bright and brilliant and can smile so easily without it. In this world--no, this  _ time period _ , she is able to have the life she should’ve had. In this time, she is happy.

But what of Ferdinand, who has not completely forgotten? It was never a question of whether or not Hubert’s memory existed somewhere within him, he realizes now; the question is if Ferdinand,  _ his  _ Ferdinand who he argued with, fought alongside, and loved was within him now. All his life, the Ferdinand of the past has probably been clawing his way back up the recesses of his own reincarnated self’s consciousness, throwing what he can into dreams, trying oh so desperately to return to the surface.

Because Ferdinand von Aegir could never be forgotten. If only it were as easy as reaching out and taking his hand, pulling him back up to this world he so badly wanted to live in. 

By the time he realizes that Ferdinand has been waiting for some kind of response from him, Hubert has already been tracing his finger along the edge of the map for a good minute. It’s ridiculously detailed, and now that he examines it for more than the lines alone, he can make out the scribbles of notes that detail possible environmental effects surrounding certain boxed areas.

“...do you have a name for it?” he asks, because there is no title, and he wants to hear Ferdinand’s voice pronounce something familiar, just one time. To see his lips form a word that they exchanged many times in passing without every thinking, now a key word to both memory and self.

He draws back his hand just as Ferdinand steps closer, reaching out to clear a bit more of the clutter from the edges of the paper. The sides reveal timestamps and more notes that appear directly related to assignments and professors, of all things. “Typically, supercontinents or similar configurations of landmasses are named by recognizable regions at the center of their discovery, like Ur being named after certain cratons, but I haven’t… well, I’m not quite fond of the name that comes from that method, so I’ve just been titling it ‘Aegir’ for my research so far.”

Aegir.

_ Of course it’s Aegir _ .

The smile comes to Hubert’s face first, as if it was brought to his lips with the natural coursing of blood that makes his cheeks pink with mirth when he laughs. And he  _ laughs _ , a bark at first before he’s snickering into his own hand and turned to the side. Of course you would name it after yourself, he wants to say, and of course that stupid answer would make him happier than the correct one.

Ferdinand, on the other hand, finds the situation much less humorous and pinches his lips in a pout as he crosses his arms. “People name things after themselves all the time!” he argues in much the same tone as he always has. “It’s not a permanent decision, and it isn’t born purely out of selfishness!”

“Is it not?” Hubert says once he’s collected himself, though he continues to smile at Ferdinand cheekily. “Doesn’t a part of you wish to keep it as Aegir? If it’s recognized, you would be guaranteed a piece of you to be remembered, just like you said. Your name would go down in history as you so desire.”

Ferdinand positively  _ flushes, _ face as red as the banner he once bore. So Hubert hit the nail on the head, then. “It--it is hardly malicious! So what, is it so bad to be somewhat selfish from time to time?” he huffs indignantly, and Hubert immediately shakes his head.

“No, it isn’t bad,” he says. His words must surprise Ferdinand, as the childish pout drops from his face and replaced with curiosity instead as he stares back up at Hubert. He repeats himself. “Knowing what you want, working earnestly towards it your entire life… and then taking the necessary steps to secure it when it’s within reach? It is selfish, but it isn’t bad. It’s respectable, even.”

He looks as if nobody has ever told him those words before. His mouth has fallen open slightly, lips apart in a small ‘o’ shape as he stares up at Hubert in bewilderment. “...yes, you’re right again, aren’t you? I have to say, it’s becoming a bit irritating,” he says with a fond chuckle that makes Hubert’s chest swell uncomfortably.

One might think that Ferdinand would be the first to justify his own goals to himself, with how he had charged headfirst into his ambitions a billion or so years ago. But those goals had fallen in line with the life he had planned out for him by his parents, hadn’t they? And he’d made friends along the way who he could support and be supported by in turn.

Speaking of which, did Ferdinand even have friends in this time…? Before he can even finish the thought, the moment is interrupted by the sound of that same creaky door being heaved open. Rather than some crotchety, decrepit instructor, though, the voice that comes through as Hubert turns his head is familiar. But not from  _ this _ lifetime.

“Oh! Ferdinand, I didn’t know you were having someone down here today! I would’ve organized my desk, how shameful,” she says, peeking out from behind a large stack of books that covers her face, and before he can even see her Hubert knows that it’s Petra, Petra,  _ Petra _ , one of their dearest generals. His breath catches, much in the same way it does whenever he comes across a Familiar (not to be confused with ‘familiar’) face. 

“Don’t even start with that,” Ferdinand laughs, gesturing for Hubert to look at the desk behind his that is  _ remarkably _ kept in comparison to Ferdinand’s. The only thing out of place is a stack of papers that may not be perfectly in order. “Your workspace is always immaculate--this is Ms. Macneary,” Ferdinand says when he looks back to Hubert. “My colleague. She’s getting her Masters in cultural heritage and preservation studies, doing research with our instructor,  _ and _ teaching English to non-native speakers--all at once!”

Petra laughs, her cheeks growing just slightly darker at the praise she receives. She takes it with a small bow of her head as she crosses the room and sets her load down on the desk. “You flatter me, Ferdinand. Please, don’t let me interrupt your discussion; I’m just coming to drop all of this off and grab my things.”

She looks… good, Hubert settles on. He takes the time now to actually look at her desk, clean, organized, and filled with small trinkets from a foreign country that Hubert doesn’t immediately recognize. Like Ferdinand, she has a number of framed photos on her desk, all appearing to be pictures of her and a relatively large family. They’re happy, especially those where she has her arms wrapped tightly around an older man he can only assume is her grandfather.

She’s made a life of her own in this new time of theirs. She’s healthy, happy, and successful, all at a glance. It warms Hubert’s heart that is already doing a number of strange things in his chest; for having been unable to find her for two decades, he thinks this might be the best case scenario given their circumstances. It comes as no surprise that Petra of all people would be able to successfully thrive in a world without their friends, and without even the memory of them. She has always been the most put together of their team.

As Petra gathers her things up in a bag and slings it over her shoulder, she gives the two of them a courteous nod, already heading back to the door. “I’ll be around tomorrow morning, Ferdinand. And nice meeting you, as well,” she calls with a wave of her hand, and Hubert wishes he could take out his phone and snap a photo of her casually brilliant smile. He knows someone who needs it more than him, right now.

“Likewise,” is all he can think to respond with as the two of them exchange quick pleasantries about their respective schedules. Hubert remembers Petra and Ferdinand getting along rather well during the war, and eventually Caspar joined the two of them in their good spirits once he’d finished working through whatever setbacks prevented him from being properly friendly with Petra. The three of them were the shining rays of optimism that helped illuminate an otherwise dark and dreary path throughout the war. They wouldn’t have made it as far as they did without them.

She leaves through the same door she came in, taking half the mood of the room with her. Ferdinand, of course, is still smiling, and turns back to his desk to rearrange some of the papers he had moved aside to reveal the map underneath. “Apologies, I probably rambled for a bit too long, before. Like I said, I haven’t been able to talk about the real reasons I’m working on this project with anyone else. Petra’s probably the one who knows the most, but naturally she doesn’t understand most of it.”

So they’re close in this new life, are they? Although he can’t help but feel continuously bitter–-the world gave Hubert so many people from his past life, but not one of the few who matters the most–-it’s still a relief to hear he wasn’t alone. For however long they’ve known each other, Ferdinand and Petra at least had someone from their past. Given, they may have encountered others they once knew, but in Hubert’s mind, none of them matter besides their original Black Eagles class.  _ Nobody  _ matters besides their original Black Eagles class.

“Does she have any dreams, too?” Hubert asks, and just because Ferdinand’s desk is so pathetic in its chaos, he begins organizing a stack of reports on his side as well. His handwriting is as messy as ever, having gotten the perfect loops of cursive down to a science but too excited to write them properly. It had made Hubert irritated to no end when he was receiving Ferdinand’s reports in wartime, but now, it strikes some fond nostalgia instead.

Ferdinand shakes his head. “No, I’ve never met anyone else who has. I’ve alluded to it being due to some… feeling of mine, like a hunch, and stumbled through a forced explanation about ghosts that somehow made sense to her--”

“Wait, wait,” Hubert is  _ quick _ to interrupt him. “ _ Ghosts _ ?”

“I was hoping you’d let that slide,” Ferdinand laughs, somewhat in spite of himself, and keeps his eyes focused on the papers in his hand. Flip it upright, turn the correct orientation, set in a stack. Flip the next, turn, into the stack. “When I was trying to come up with a way of explaining what was happening in my head to other people, it was a metaphor that made sense to me at the time? It’s hardly relevant right now, please, I’ve explained myself  _ far _ better now.”

“To someone who already understands, you mean.” Flip, turn, stack, on Hubert’s side. “I practically did half the work for you by already being informed on the subject.”

Flip, turn, stack.

“We can’t all be master wordsmiths writing entire  _ novels _ .”

Flip.

“I’m a master, now? I wasn’t aware I’d received such high praise from you.”

Turn.

“You’re using your skill with words to fish for compliments. I won’t be goaded.”

Stack.

It’s painfully easy to pretend that the papers in his hands are documents on supplies to forts and troops and not essays on climate change. Hubert sneaks a glance to his right only to find Ferdinand smiling down at his work. He shouldn’t have looked, captivated now in deciphering the peaceful expression on the man’s face and wondering whether or not he has a home in it.

Instead, he busies himself with conversation. “You brought up something peculiar, earlier. I meant to ask before your friend came in.”

Ferdinand lifts his head, aiming the full force of his smile in Hubert’s direction. This time, Hubert manages not to look away, as dazzled as he remains by the relic of feelings buried for millions of years beating anew in his chest. “What is that?”

“You mentioned that these supercontinents of yours are typically named after recognizable land masses today. Does that mean you haven’t been able to connect any of the land on this map with our current one?”

“Oh, not so. I just… well, it wouldn’t be a very good name is all. Here, let me show you.” 

Ferdinand sets the papers down in a different stack before pulling out the chair of the desk and sitting down. By now enough space has been made that he can actually reach for the mouse on its pad and wake the computer that’s already turned on. It whirs to life with the sounds of age, and Hubert stands behind Ferdinand, somewhat confused as he watches.

He speaks while clicking around, pulling up a modern map on the monitor to assist his point. “I’ll spare you the boring details, but there’s a specific little peninsula over here that I believe to have gone through a similar route as another at a different point in time, and it’s the only one I’ve been able to clearly trace.” Ferdinand’s other hand hovers back over the map before he points a finger down and taps the area in question.

Hubert should expect each terrible surprise by now, and yet he’s still caught off guard when Ferdinand’s finger lands on the area that was once the base of their operations.

_ Enbarr _ .

He remains silent as Ferdinand continues on his explanation. “I tried following it through a few more well established geographical theories, and I  _ do _ have some ideas of my own that I’d like to see through eventually. I’ve come to the conclusion that I’ll probably try to do some research in the area once I’ve finished my current work here, make a thesis out of it if I can. I’d need to be there in person, I think.”

Only once he’s managed a slow inhale does Hubert respond. “And where would that be, today?”

“Here--you can see why I couldn’t just name it after this.”

The mouse on the screen moves from where their current location is across the map, soaring over the land a few hundred miles away until it lands on a city whose name is printed much larger than the others. Hubert understands what Ferdinand means immediately; it’s quite literally the capital of another country, one of the largest and most luxurious cities in the world with an already recognizable and distinct name. People frequent the area for its lush beaches and stunning landscape all the time, these days. It’s a terribly inconvenient vacation spot.

In the past few months, Hubert has coincidentally become quite an expert on the city; after all, he helped scour out the perfect beach there for Edelgard’s upcoming wedding.

It seems he will no longer have to worry about finding a plus onetwo--and hopefully, neither will Bernadetta.

They make conversation about their respective work for the next thirty minutes or so, and then Hubert makes an excuse about helping Edelgard that pulls him out of the basement of the building before his mind can spiral out of control overthinking. In such a short amount of time, Ferdinand has turned his entire world upside down a number of times, and Hubert doesn’t see the trend stopping anytime soon. There is far too much new information for him to process all at once, and he can hardly do so when Ferdinand is chatting away as if everything in the world is good and normal as ever.

As if he hasn’t revealed the secret to this earth’s dark, tragic history with one simple map, hand drawn and hidden beneath empty mugs of tea and stacks of scattered papers. That map that has single handedly convinced Hubert that nothing was for granted, and he is not the victim of some two person delusion, as he occasionally fell into the habit of believing.

The war they fought together may have been on this very soil, millions of years past. The blood that they shed, all of their fears and strengths and triumphs and losses--they are no longer just the words typed into a computer and mass printed into books to be sold. The ink is their blood, the paper the rock beneath his very feet; it was all here.

There isn’t a decision to be made; Hubert will return the favor. For all the time he has been alive and burdened with the memories of millions of years past, Ferdinand has been putting the pieces in place to rescue him, all while being locked inside a mind he is not even conscious in. 

He has no other choice. Edelgard is already safe, and she will be happy for the rest of her days. Hubert has led her this far, and soon, he will be able to confidently pass her into the trusted hands of another.

Hubert has somebody new to protect. And with the map of Fodlan, their entire world from millions of years ago set between them, Hubert swears a new oath to the man behind Ferdinand’s eyes who he can only pray somehow hears him.

_ I will rescue you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another big thank you as always for the kind comments <3


	6. On My Level, Soon to Revel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your regular apologies for late updates but hey maybe a quarantine will help write faster! i wrote this one in two days so maybe it will! big thank u to the sweetest ellie (@atinygayfrog on twit) for being my beta i lov u

_ Hubert stops at Edelgard’s door when he finds it already cracked open, given pause for only a moment before he opens it and walks in. She is already sitting at her vanity, still wearing her sleeping gown, and braiding her own hair. It is a task Hubert usually takes as his own while informing her of any word he has received during the night from messengers and the like. It is also relaxing, one of the few pleasures he is able to indulge in while they are at war. _

_ “Your Majesty,” he says by way of greeting, though he knows she can see him in the mirror. Hubert closes the door behind him and approaches her back. “It is unusual to see you doing your own hair.” _

_ There is no question as to her wellbeing, not verbally, but the notice is all it takes for the implication to reach her. Things like outright questions and straightforward words are years behind them, now. _

_ Perhaps that is why it comes as such a surprise to Hubert when she answers so honestly. _

_ “Ferdinand is dead,” she says, voice quiet and almost raspy with the disuse that morning brings. _

_ Had Hubert been doing her hair today, she would have surely noticed the small start in his fingers at the words. They are sore, but not as much as they had been when the news first arrived, more like a bruise than the aching wound Hubert tries to pretend it is not. To busy himself from thinking more on it, he comes to her side and begins braiding the other half of Edelgard’s hair. _

_ “Yes. He is,” he says. _

_ “His work has already been taken up by another.” _

_ “The world cannot stop turning for the death of one general. We must continue on our path.” _

_ “You do not say his name anymore.” _

_ Now prepared for the conversation, Hubert doesn’t falter, his fingers weaving through her hair mechanically with practiced ease. “We have already held his funeral.” _

_ “Dorothea will be joining you when the Kingdom’s army approaches Enbarr.” _

_ The sudden change in topic does not go unnoticed. Hubert hesitates only for a moment, trying to understand where Edelgard’s mind is taking the two of them in this conversation. From speaking about Ferdinand, how Hubert has handled his death, to Dorothea and the impending assault on Enbarr… Hubert may not understand completely, but he is not dense. _

_ “Do not worry, your Majesty.” He twirls up the finished braid in his hand, carefully folding it on the left side of her head and pinning it in place. Then he comes to stand by her other side. “Our defenses cannot be beat, and your strategy is sound.” _

_ They aren’t the words she wants to hear. _

_ They probably aren’t even the words that she  _ needs _ to hear, either. But they are all that Hubert can offer, and they meet eyes for the first time the entire morning when he has finished arranging her hair on the right side of her head. With gloved, gentle fingers, Hubert fetches her crown from the cushion it sits proudly on top of and carefully positions it on her head. _

_ They meet eyes again. Edelgard’s close, and when they open, they are straightforward, staring only at her own reflection in the mirror. _

_ “Yes, of course.” _

* * *

For all their worrying for months upon months over what Hubert can now see in hindsight were the silliest things, the event goes off without a hitch. The catering arrives on time. The decorations are set up perfectly, precisely as they designed. Hubert continues to fret throughout the morning of the big day, making sure all guests have arrived and are seated where they’re designated.

Then he enters Edelgard’s dressing room to speak with her, only to walk in on the perfect moment where Bernadetta is arranging the long train of her dress behind her, bouquet in her arms, and veil placed perfectly atop her head. It’s much softer, more delicate than a golden crown of horns. Hubert thinks he likes it anyway. She beams as he enters, smiling bashfully as she asks how she looks, and all of Hubert’s worries melt away.

The wedding is lovely.

Edelgard has never shone more brightly in her life, smiling throughout the ceremony. Her eyes never leave Dorothea’s, and Hubert notices the two of them whispering to each other even as the woman officiating their wedding speaks. All he can do is roll his eyes fondly, watching Edelgard try to stifle a giggle at something Dorothea says.

From where Hubert stands at the front of the venue behind Edelgard with the rest of her bridal party, he has the best view in the house at everyone else’s reactions. There are multiple pairs of wet eyes by the time the two of them have recited their vows. Some are simply friends and family (Hubert’s eyes quickly skip over Dimitri). Some are far more important.

Like Caspar and Linhardt, the latter Edelgard made friends with in her first year of university when working at the library part time. They’ve remained friends since then, and it is only natural Linhardt would bring his boyfriend to the wedding as his plus one--it is, of course, said boyfriend who is trying not to openly blubber at Dorothea’s vows that very moment. Hubert watches Linhardt crack a smile and pat his leg.

Beside him is the second most important in the bridal party, Bernadetta, whose tears stream down her face silently but steadily, like two faucets just barely turned on to a trickle throughout the ceremony. He recognizes the smile on her face as he subtly hands her a handkerchief from his pocket, and when their eyes meet, Hubert has a feeling the same smile might even be reflected on his face, as well. The ceremony is beautiful. Their vows are heartfelt and sincere, enough to make any stranger cry--but Hubert and Bernadetta are far more than just strangers.

This event, this entire moment, has been two lifetimes in the works. Hubert thinks that it was worth the wait, and just as the thought crosses his mind, he finds his eyes naturally drifting towards a specific spot of bright orange in the crowd.

Ferdinand and Petra sit next to each other, a few rows behind Edelgard’s family and close friends. On the topic of being able to make even strangers cry, it appears Petra was not spared by Edelgard and Dorothea’s genuine love (or maybe, Hubert hopes, some touch of the past has resurfaced in her heart as well) and continues to dab gently at her eyes every few minutes. Ferdinand whispers something to her that makes her shoulders shake with a silent laugh, reflected in the bright smile on his face. He turns back to the ceremony, and his eyes stop on Hubert’s. There is no pretending Hubert wasn’t unabashedly staring at him now, so he nods a small acknowledgement.

Ferdinand’s smile widens before he reins it back in. He nods back at Hubert.

The invitation to join Hubert and Bernadetta at Edelgard’s wedding had been met with disbelief, but also great excitement. Ferdinand had tried playing polite, declining Hubert’s generous offer or trying to find some way around accepting it without some form of repayment. He’d been betrayed by the absolutely  _ ecstatic _ expression on his face at the mention of the very location he had been pining after for the sake of his research. There was never any way he would’ve been able to turn Hubert down, personal pride be damned. For Bernadetta’s sake and to entertain Ferdinand while Hubert is busy with the wedding itself, Hubert extended the offer to Petra as well. 

(Bernadetta, of course, had cried for  _ hours _ when Hubert finally told her.)

As the wedding ends and the day turns to evening, the reception begins in full swing. Hubert is far more relaxed when he sees Edelgard has stopped worrying about everything, though he continues to peek behind the scenes to make sure everything will continue to operate smoothly. The guests mingle, drink, eat, and dance inside the long ballroom that has been decorated long in advance for today with dim lights and an assortment of red and white flowers on each table. At one point, Dorothea tries to pull Hubert onto the dancefloor, berating him for looking so concerned and stiff at a wedding of all places. He doesn’t join her, naturally, and steers her back in the direction of Caspar who is much more easy to lead to the dancefloor. The two of them have much more fun than Hubert would’ve been able to give her, anyways.

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who thrives in these kinds of events,” comes a familiar voice suddenly at his side. Hubert isn’t surprised by it, not when he’s watching three of his old classmates twirl about the dancefloor chaotically (because wherever Caspar goes, he’s bound to bring Linhardt spinning with him). Ferdinand is holding a drink, and if Hubert is keeping track correctly, it is his third glass of champagne.

Hubert himself swirls his second in one hand. “I would assume the opposite of you.”

“You’d be right,” Ferdinand says with a small laugh, “my father used to hold parties at our home all the time, as well as bringing me to the weddings of other colleagues and family members. The song and dance of it all has become second nature.”

“And yet here you are, neither singing nor dancing.”

“It would be rude to leave the side of my date for the night, don’t you think?” As he says it, Ferdinand lifts the flute of champagne for a long sip, eyeing Hubert—playfully(?) as he does.

Thankful for the alcohol keeping him from floundering at the daring word choice, Hubert merely rolls his eyes. “Yes, but I don’t believe you agreed to come just to play around at a wedding in the first place.”

At the hint of his work, Ferdinand’s eyes flash with a spark of excitement, his smile turning boyish and sweet instead of the devious little look he’d given Hubert previously. “I don’t dislike this--but I  _ am _ admittedly very excited for the rest of this trip. I wasn’t about to bring that up while celebrating your best friend’s marriage, though.”

“Quite noble of you, but I think all of my duties as best man are since accomplished.”

“You say that, but I have not seen you on the dancefloor  _ once _ this evening.”

“I certainly didn’t sign up to be.”

Ferdinand steps in front of Hubert, laughter ringing like bells over the beat of some modern song Hubert can only recall the name of from its spot on the DJ’s provided setlist. “Isn’t it assumed that you would at least join her for a single dance? It seems like that duty is built into the--”

“Hubert!”

Speak of the angel. They both turn in time to see Edelgard walking towards them, lifting her dress so as to not trip on it while Bernadetta carries her train behind her, Petra in tow. Hubert blinks. Petra had agreed to meet and be Bernadetta’s plus one as way of joining the party, but he hadn’t expected them to get along as instantly as they appear to be, chatting away while Bernadetta fixes Edelgard’s veil. The moment Bernadetta catches Hubert looking, she flashes him a smile that conveys everything he could’ve asked of her and more.

Edelgard smiles at Hubert before her attention flashes over to Ferdinand and back. “I don’t think I’ve been able to properly meet your guest. This is…?”

“Ferdinand,” Ferdinand supplies on his own, holding out a hand for her to shake. She takes it. “You look beautiful; the ceremony was absolutely stunning.”

Edelgard flushes at the praise, her smile not faltering. In fact, her chest puffs out a bit more. Hubert can tell she’s probably heard the same thing all night and yet it continues to delight her. “Thank you,” she says politely before looking back to Hubert. “You four will be staying in the city for a few days, then?”

“Yes. I had planned on staying a bit for inspiration, anyways,” Hubert lies, and he can see in her eyes that Edelgard knows the truth. He would never have any reason to go on vacation for a novel she knows he wrote on a whim, and her eyes flash to Ferdinand for a moment before landing back on him. Then back to Ferdinand.

“You’ve been meaning to come here for your own research, Ferdinand?” she asks.

He nods readily, straightening in preparation for what could easily turn into another work monologue. Hubert in turn prepares to step in and stop him if need be. “Yes! I’m incredibly grateful to Hubert for offering me the opportunity to come here, and bring Petra along as well,” he says while looking over Edelgard’s shoulder to smile at the other woman. Her attention is hard to steal away from her current conversation with Bernadetta, so he continues. “Really, the timing was impeccable; I might even go so far as to say fateful!”

“Fateful,” Edelgard echoes.

The word rings in Hubert’s ears, especially when in their voices specifically. To see Ferdinand and Edelgard, his love and his lady, speaking casually with glasses of fine champagne at Edelgard’s wedding, smiling and in high spirits--he doesn’t interrupt even if he could. In her head, Edelgard is probably only thinking of how she can use these silly circumstances to tease Hubert about some new crush he might have. Ferdinand, on the other hand, is focusing on making a good first impression on this stranger he has met by happenstance.

But they’ve stood together and talked like this before, albeit without the celebrations, without the loud music, without the wedding dress and the jovial mood. There were certainly times the two of them stood with cups full of wine and spoke between each other while Hubert loomed in the shadows. He’s certain that sometimes they even smiled--no, he’s positive that they did.

They were friends, Hubert thinks. Certainly closer to friends than anything between him and Edelgard, lord and retainer. 

“It was wonderful meeting you, Ferdinand,” Edelgard says after a few more pleasantries that Hubert is too busy stewing in his own head to hear. He watches as they shake hands once again, a bit more familiar this time, and Ferdinand flashes her another brilliant smile.

“Likewise, and congratulations once more.”

Her attention turns to Hubert again, then, and he isn’t quite sure what to do. The woman standing in front of him is she who he vowed to protect with his life, only to fail and be forced to wait billions of years for another opportunity. He has helped raise her into the young lady she is now, in all her success and splendor and happiness. 

“Thank you for everything, Hubert,” Edelgard says just as Dorothea finally finds them and joins her side. The two of their hands naturally join between them, exchanging a heartfelt smile that makes Hubert’s own heart ache.

Tonight, when he is able to hand her off to another woman, one he trusts will not only make her happy but allow her to flourish, doesn’t it feel as if his mission is ending?

In a way, it is the culmination of what has taken eons to fall back into place and properly settle, this time with a proper happy ending. What words could possibly be exchanged on a night like this, to one who isn’t even aware of how profound her smile is? Edelgard has never known the impact her own happiness could have on the world, and Hubert has resigned himself to carrying the weight of that knowledge singlehandedly their entire lives. He should say something. He should express it, somehow, these feelings that cross the boundary of time and reason and blood and death itself.

But all he can think as she stands before him, proud and brilliant, is how lovely the brown of her hair looks in contrast to the white of her veil. It’s a good contrast. He’s glad that there is one.

Maybe, after all this time, he can finally rest assured that she is taken care of.

His mission is complete, at long last, and Hubert is at a loss for words as the realization strikes him. From here on, the rest of his life will be his and his alone, though his heart will always long for and belong to her in a way that is different than that between her and Dorothea. 

But he can rest. Echoing in his ears, Hubert can hear the faint sound of a book closing, the same sound he has heard hundreds of times while closing the covers of his own novels after signing the front page. He can finally, finally rest.

Edelgard lets go of Dorothea’s hand after saying something quietly to her, then she steps forward before Hubert can say anything. In a move that does not come naturally to either of them and actually catches Hubert off guard, she leans up, holding her arms out. He takes the cue to wrap an awkward arm around her waist and bends rather low to accept the hug. She’s warm. Usually the only times he’s hugged Edelgard were when she was upset, so despondent that she would finally throw away her pride and tuck herself in his arms for comfort he could only clumsily provide.

Over the sound of the music, Hubert hears Edelgard whisper into his ear. “You deserve this, Hubert. Let yourself be happy, too.”

His heart clenches. It stirs, for a beat, when Edelgard pulls away from him, holding Hubert by his shoulders with a gentle smile that holds the strength of an entire empire behind it. He cannot help but return it, still holding onto her waist, because he doesn’t  _ want to let go _ .

“Edie, they’re about to play our song!” Dorothea suddenly gasps, not meaning to tear them from the moment, but also a few too many drinks in to not enjoy her wedding night fully. Edelgard’s head whips around, equally surprised, and finally gives Hubert a small sympathetic look.

Hubert breathes a small, fond laugh from his nose as he finally removes his hands from Edelgard’s waist. “Go, enjoy your night,” he says.

“You, too, Hubert.” Edelgard takes her hands off his shoulders and spins around to take Dorothea’s instead. It only takes moments before she’s whisked away and back onto the dancefloor, a single part of two brilliantly white clad figures twirling together.

He meets Bernadetta’s eye as he turns back to their small group. Her back is straighter, he thinks, and then she speaks. “Are you enjoying your night, Hubert?”

Next to them, Petra and Ferdinand have already reconvened and are talking amongst themselves. Hubert knows that if he listened in for more than a few moments he would hear something about the location’s geography and what areas outside of the city they’ll be exploring in the coming days.

Since they have the moment alone, he doesn’t bother giving Bernadetta an answer of mere pleasantries. It’s more straightforward for him to simply ask, “Are you?”

Her grin immediately widens. She looks down at the floor, laughs, and then back up to Hubert.

She’s having the best night of her life. Hubert thinks he might be, too.

* * *

They stay later than most for the sake of helping clean everything up and see the two brides off. Hubert, of course, is the one to have packed all of Edelgard’s things and have them delivered to the car they’ll be taking to their hotel room, though he doesn’t get to give her a personal send off.

Bernadetta leaves partway through the night, still never one for large events, and Petra takes it as her cue to follow suit. They retire together, and though they have separate hotel rooms booked, Hubert thinks they might end up spending a bit more time together if their animated conversation while leaving the reception is anything to go off of. But that doesn’t mean Hubert sees the night through alone.

Beside him, Ferdinand shrugs on his suit jacket that he had taken off when they started cleaning. “I must thank you again for inviting me, Hubert,” he says as he fumbles with fastening his cuffs for a few seconds before giving up and letting his sleeves fall open. “I didn’t expect to enjoy myself so much at a wedding at which I only know one guest, but it was  _ splendid _ ! I think you might have a business in the wedding planning business yet, if law and writing don’t work out for you.”

Hubert, perfectly put together and even buttoning his jacket up, huffs a small laugh. “So my novel was bad enough for you to anticipate the decline of  _ both _ my careers, is it?”

“You know well enough how much I enjoyed your book, and you just enjoy tormenting me by fishing for compliments.”

“Please, I am not so desperate as to fall low enough to seek out  _ your _ compliments specifically, Ferdinand.”

It earns a nice, resounding laugh from Ferdinand, the echo of it cut off as they leave the empty ballroom and walk out into the hallway instead. By now, it’s late enough that the only people present are employees, and even they are scarce around the venue. They emerge into the bustling night life of bright neon lights and chilly, somewhat humid night air. Hubert’s foot finds a puddle as soon as they step outside. It must’ve rained while they were celebrating, and luck would have the bad weather pass before the reception ended.

Hubert slows his walk as Ferdinand blows on his hands for warmth. “It’s my first time being here; I thought it would be warmer than the university in winter, but it’s just about the same, isn’t it?”

“You should’ve brought a coat regardless. It’s still winter.” Hubert thinks for a moment if he should be offering Ferdinand his own coat or gloves and thinks better of it. 

As they descend the stairs of the venue and turn out onto the sidewalk, they’re more susceptible to the sudden chill of wind that strikes just as they’re vulnerable to the open air. Hubert cringes; he should’ve brought a scarf, too. Even with the knowledge that this piece of land was once Adrestia,  _ Enbarr _ , even, it doesn’t help anticipate the weather. The entire point of Ferdinand’s research was that these landmasses have all shifted and changed over time, so it would be unreasonable to expect the weather to be the same as it was so long ago.

“I’ll go ahead and call a cab,” he says while already reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. “The hotel is far enough that we might as well not torture ourselves walking. Ferdinand, would you--”

Hubert stops himself, realizing that Ferdinand isn’t listening to him at all. In fact, he isn’t even turned towards Hubert, facing the opposite direction down the wrong street, still as a statue. Hubert is irritated for a moment before he joins Ferdinand’s side and catches a glimpse of his face. 

His eyes are blown wide, lips parted, and his hands are frozen in front of him, uncovered and exposed to the wind. They’re turning red from the chill, and yet Ferdinand does nothing to warm them back up. It doesn’t look like he’s even noticed.

“...Ferdinand?”

Just like that, he blinks, awareness returning to his eyes at Hubert’s voice as he turns and stares at him, bewildered, instead. He appears just as confused as Hubert is before trying to pass the moment off with an awkward laugh that trails into nothing, and his head lifts back up to stare off in the same direction as before.

This time, he speaks. “Sorry, it’s so strange, I had just been talking all night how I’ve never visited this city, and yet… I keep getting the impression that I’ve been here before. It’s so silly.”

Hubert quickly interrupts in an effort to not let the conversation die. “What about it?”

Ferdinand lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose with a small smile as he looks back up at Hubert. It only takes seconds for his eyes to drift off back down the street, as if he cannot tear himself away from looking at it. “It’s the weirdest sense of deja vu, like I’ve stood right here before… but it looks nothing like the scene in front of us now. It’s just like an image appeared in my mind, like the dreams that I have--but I’m awake.”

The phone in Hubert’s hand, the cold of the air, even the events that have just taken place less than an hour prior all fly out of Hubert’s mind. For simply standing in place, he should not feel rushed with such adrenaline as he does now, but he doesn’t reflect any of the excitement he feels at Ferdinand’s words on his face. All he does is step closer. “What does it look like?” he asks, quieter.

_ Tell me what you see. _

_ Tell me what you remember, what pieces of our past remain within you _ .

Ferdinand laughs, again, as if the entire situation is ridiculous before he seems to remember who he is with. He glances between Hubert and the street once more, and his smile finally falls into a neutral expression. No, it’s more complicated than that, Hubert thinks as he tries to read the look on Ferdinand’s face while he speaks.

“It was a large town… a beautiful city, rather. The ground was stone, laid out in intricate roads and pathways.”

Wistful?

“The buildings were white and tall, with red roofs and high, arched windows and doorways. And a large building would’ve been just to the right--no, an opera house. I think that it was an opera house.”

Mystified?

“In the center, what would’ve been just down this street, I suppose… was the largest, most beautiful palace…”

It takes a good minute before Hubert, published author that he is, can finally land on the correct word;  _ yearning _ . Even now, Ferdinand is able to recognize the street that would’ve led back to the Imperial Palace where they once spent all their days. Although it is now lined with bars, smoke shops, and tourist attractions, the geography, the heart of the land they’re standing on can tell no lies. It reaches out to Ferdinand, pulls him in, and whispers tales of a history long since past.

_ This is a road you know very well, _ it says.

_ This is the road you should have marched back down, victorious. _

Hubert swallows around a hard lump in his throat, though he has no recollection of it being there before. “We should go. It looks like it’s about to rain once more.”

Ferdinand smiles, and this time the expression stays there. He nods. “Right. Let’s get back to the hotel.” They take back off down the street, foregoing the cab and warming the other with conversation instead.

A billion years ago, Hubert had agreed to receive Ferdinand when he returned from battle at the Bridge of Myrddin. 

Today, Hubert has finally fulfilled two of his promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> always always big love thank u for reading and being patient with my horrible schedule!!!


	7. You're the Real Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow sorry about the wait, a pandemic happened and my family has kind of been through it. i also feel like i should apologize about the quality of these chapters recently? i'm very aware how different it is from the beginning of the fic way back when, and i wish i could improve it somehow. most of the wait is just me agonizing over these after having finished the chapter a month ago but not finding it up to par
> 
> still, i hope you manage to enjoy the story for what it is, and i hope to deliver better quality in the future! thank u for sticking around ;;;; enjoy bernadetta and hubert fighting

_ “Where will you go when this is over?” _

_ It’s a strange question, but that doesn’t mean Hubert doesn’t have an answer prepared, automated and plain as it is. His brows furrow together, confused, as their horses proceed with the same gait. They’ve accepted the same task of delivering missives to one of the nearby leaders in Hresvelg together, given it isn’t far enough to bring an entire party but certainly too much for one person. Ferdinand boasted the protection and strength of dozens in his accompaniment alone. Hubert was too tired to argue. _

_ “Enbarr, of course. Is the answer not the same for you?” It wouldn’t be out of consideration for Ferdinand to return to Aegir and take over where his father left off. Even so, Edelgard has been thoroughly grooming him to accept a position of rather high importance ever since his repeated success in battle the past five years as well as his invaluable aid to the council. Hubert thought it natural that he would simply accept what Edelgard offers him and remain in Enbarr with a few of the other generals. _

_ “Hm, I suppose I should elaborate. Where would you go in the future, if you had your say?” _

_ Past the war, then, and years if not decades after. Those specifications give the question a bit more depth than before, actually stumping Hubert for a few moments as he focuses on the forest path ahead of them once again. It isn’t often that he thinks so far as after the after, so preoccupied with only the steps ahead that he can immediately control. To try and account for anything besides the war they’re enveloped in would be arrogant. He would be a fool to think so far ahead as to already be planning his retirement. _

_ He settles for a nonanswer. “Wherever the Emperor requires me, I shall go. That is all there is to it.” _

_ Ferdinand heaves an audible sigh that Hubert thinks is more dramatics than actual disappointment. It’s confirmed when he glances back over at Ferdinand to find an exasperated smile on his face. “So you have not thought about it, I understand.” _

_ Hubert feels his lip twitch. _

_ How annoying, that he could be read so easily. _

_ Ferdinand continues speaking, despite not being asked for his input. “I would like to travel, I think. When battles are over, I actually quite enjoy the ride back to Enbarr and getting to see more and more of Adrestia. After all of this… I would like to see the rest of Fodlan with my own two eyes and not just by the description of another. Does it not sound appealing to you?” _

_ “Only in the way all questions have some inherent intrigue before they are revealed,” Hubert answers with a small scoff. “The rest of Fodlan is not any more grand or mystical than Adrestia; you will take off and find the world and its people are essentially the same wherever you go.” _

_ “But there are differences, still.” _

_ “Naturally.” _

_ “Those are what interest me most.” There is a small sense of delight in Ferdinand’s voice that is likely born of being able to speak about himself, Hubert thinks, but it doesn’t falter between Hubert’s commentary. Recently, it takes far more to upset or irritate Ferdinand than it used to. “I would be much more reluctant to travel if I had to relearn everything for each strange new world.” _

_ “You might as well stay in Enbarr. At least there you will be guaranteed a purpose.” _

_ The words leave his mouth before he can think better of them. The reins in Hubert’s hands feel a little heavier, suddenly, and he coaxes his horse to trot a little faster just to pass Ferdinand by a few inches. Just enough that he doesn’t have to turn and see him, bright and brilliant and oddly quiet as he is. _

_ The silence only lasts for a few moments before he hears Ferdinand breathe a small laugh. “I had already planned to, but I was not aware I was promised any ‘guaranteed purpose.’ You are really quite kind when you choose to be, aren’t you?” _

_ “It is not  _ my _ personal offer to you,” Hubert huffs, not sounding half as uninterested as he would like. _

_ But Ferdinand is unfazed by his stubborn behavior, his smile airy and ever present in his next words. “No, but you bothered to mention it. Try as you might, Hubert von Vestra, but I’m beginning to suspect I have you quite figured out.” _

_ Hubert laughs at that, as terrifying as the notion is. It should be a much more weighty statement, to be known and understood, but when spoken in Ferdinand’s voice, he finds he doesn’t much mind. “You are truly delusional to think that I, of all people, am  _ kind _ .” _

_ It’s at that moment that Ferdinand is suddenly at Hubert’s side, his horse slowed beside his as the redhead leans forward to get a better look at his face. Rather than maintaining their pace, or watching out for the sides of the road as he should, all Hubert can think is how brilliantly arrogant he is, how naivety still clings to him even now after growing so much over the last five years. Maybe he’s the real fool for finding it as charming as it is. _

_ “I could have made the decision on my own to remain in Enbarr, as I already had, and yet you spoke to me about staying anyways. So, I know you’re a good person, as hard as you might try to appear aloof and uncaring. But don’t worry,” he finishes with a little conspiratorial wink, “I won’t tell anyone.” _

_ With that, he tugs on the reins of his horse, stealing his portrait from Hubert’s view even as his eyes try to follow. He’s stunned, momentarily, as Ferdinand’s silly little words and all their implications sink in. It doesn’t take long before he’s smiling as well, shaking his head with a fake exasperation nobody else is present to witness as he follows after the other general. _

* * *

Bernadetta and Petra make good company during the rest of their trip. Although he is not entirely clear on what the latter’s work at the university entails, Hubert knows how eagerly she accepted the opportunity to come. He simply doesn’t know if she accepted for her own experience or the sake of accompanying Ferdinand--it hardly matters now that her attention has been swallowed up whole by Bernadetta, though.

When arriving or finding something interesting, all four of them are able to speak comfortably amongst each other, but they tend to split into pairs often enough that Hubert is grateful for the buzz of Bernadetta and Petra’s conversation in the background. If he were alone with Ferdinand, merely accompanying his journey into his own memories as an oblivious bystander, Hubert isn’t sure he would be able to withstand it.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, quiet as if Petra and Bernadetta might ever stop their own conversation (about rabbits, it sounds like?) to listen to them. Ferdinand shifts a little closer with an almost shy smile as he approaches.

“There was another?” It’s obvious, but Hubert feels the need to ask anyways.

Ferdinand nods. He looks ahead of them as they find their way back to paved ground from natural trails. “It wasn’t all wilderness like this park, but there were stables--so many stables, all filled with horses that were fitted in armor. I thought I even recognized one.”

“You said you used to do horseback riding, didn’t you? I can’t imagine there are so many unique horses that one  _ wouldn’t _ look familiar.”

“Hey now, that’s very rude!” Even so, he laughs, the sound bright and lovely as ever. Hubert doesn’t try biting back a small smile of his own this time. “If you put my childhood horse in a field of hundreds, I could pick her out easily. It’s much easier than you would think. I bet it’s the same as you trying to pick out… oh, I don’t know what you are interested in enough to make the comparison!”

Ferdinand crosses his arms over his chest in pretend exasperation, though Hubert can detect the slightest bit of change in his smile after studying it for so long. Enough to realize that something he’d said just now was a legitimate cause for concern or frustration, and they’ve talked about Ferdinand’s horses jokingly a few times.

It puts him in an awkward position, knowing Ferdinand so well.

But these moments where the other doesn’t understand him as perfectly are only temporary.

“Cats,” Hubert finally says in the same quiet Ferdinand had used to share the secret of his small visions. “I could and have been able to point out specific cats from dozens. Strays, not my own.”

The effect is immediate, and he watches with relief as Ferdinand’s face lights up with another new piece of information about the mysterious stranger who understands him. “Strays, huh? Why haven’t you adopted one of them, yet?”

It’s in every moment they spend together.

Every park, every cafe or town they visit on their day trips around the area brings new memories to the forefront of Ferdinand’s mind. Each small morsel is enough fuel to keep Hubert following him around to these ridiculous locations for hours on end, not needing a break when this time together is like an oasis in his meager daily life as it is.

Slowly, with each passing day, the Ferdinand that Hubert once knew climbs a little higher in the prison of his own mind, slowly, so slowly creeping back to the surface. All Hubert has to do is lead him there.

* * *

It’s only natural that Hubert would keep Bernadetta up to date with their progress. Even if their connection wasn’t quite as strong, Ferdinand was still an important friend to Bernadetta, and it isn’t easy to forget her tears when Hubert first told her he’d finally found him. This morning is an opportune one that allows them more time together than usual as Petra and Ferdinand have decided to explore the local top-reviewed locations for breakfast together.

“You and Petra seem to be getting along rather well,” Hubert says conversationally as she joins him in his hotel room where food has already been ordered and brought. There isn’t anything special or interesting about hotel breakfast, much less the coffee, but it awards them more time together than going out somewhere more satisfying.

Bernadetta sits across from him with a bashful smile, her face painted a charming shade of pink as her eyes dance between meeting his and the pastries on the table. He doesn’t think he’s seen that color on her cheeks in years. “Yes… it’s nicer than I thought, getting to meet and learn about each other like this, with different stories… I’m having a lot of fun.”

Hubert’s brows crease momentarily. He clears his expression with a sip of watery coffee. “So she truly doesn’t remember anything, then? Pity.”

Not that he ever expected her to. The fact that Ferdinand has any recollection of their past life at all is a miracle in itself. The two of them have only ever had each other when it came to these things, no one else having any memory at all. All the others were able to carry on as if this was truly the first time they’ve walked this earth, all new and exciting each day while Hubert and Bernadetta continued as the sole keepers of their past.

Engaged in his own thoughts, Hubert doesn’t notice how her expression drops, or the way her eyes suddenly lock onto the danish on her plate without lifting. He does, however, hear her speak, quiet as her voice may be.

“...is it that important if she doesn’t?”

“...pardon?”

Bernadetta’s hunched shoulders suddenly relax before straightening as she takes a deep breath that puffs her chest out. It isn’t unusual to see her sitting up straight, not in the slightest--but it isn’t very often that that challenging look in her eyes meets Hubert of all people on the other end.

“I’ve been thinking, Hubert, and I decided--I  _ like _ things the way they are,” she says, the words coming quickly as if she only has a certain amount of time before her confidence returns to fear a-la Cinderella. “I haven’t thought about the past in days, not since we first met, and I’ve--I’ve been having  _ fun _ , and I think she is too, and I don’t, I don’t… I don’t want to ruin that with painful memories. I think I’m ready to just move on.”

It’s the first time she’s spoken like this to Hubert in a long time, probably not since they last argued over her leaving her family or not. She meets his eye steadily, keeps it, and despite her stutter manages to continue in a clear and even voice. These aren’t occasions Hubert particularly enjoys, unlike his arguments with Ferdinand recently. Where their friendship has been built from debate and disagreements, he and Bernadetta are different; it isn’t their relationship to fight. It never has been.

That being said, Hubert can’t stop his face from twisting, a sour expression taking the place of the small smile he’d been wearing previously. “Those ‘painful memories’ are our entire lives, Bernadetta. Regardless if you want them or not, you shouldn’t push them aside. We’re the only ones--”

“Hubert--”

“--who remember, and you don’t think that’s important anymore? If we decide to just  _ move on _ then everything we once were, the war that we fought and the people that died disappear for  _ good _ . Without a trace. Without a memory or legacy to honor. Do you not have any respect for the strong warrior and woman that Petra  _ was _ ?”

Bernadetta’s eyes widen, shock and horror warping her features. “Don’t…”

“It’s fine if she doesn’t remember,” Hubert continues, charging ahead with the conversation for better or worse. “But our past doesn’t  _ ruin _ anything. The only reason we can enjoy the present is because of where we’ve come from--”

“Those memories  _ hurt _ , Hubert, I want to move on, I want to be  _ happy _ \--”

“We’re the only ones who can pay respect to everyone who lost their lives in the war, it’s our responsibility--”

“--and what if they hurt Ferdinand, too?”

That, for the first time today, effectively silences Hubert.

He stares, wide eyed, as Bernadetta covers her mouth, seemingly shocked by her own outburst before her eyes harden, resolve steeled, and lowers her hand once more. It isn’t often she stuns Hubert into silence, and instead of apologizing, she takes the opportunity to speak clearly without being interrupted.

“What if Ferdinand doesn’t  _ want _ to remember everything? Those memories, you know how much they’ve hurt us to bear, do you really want to subject him to that same thing? The two of you seem happy right now, you seem like you’re already having fun--why does that have to change? Why does this happy present have to be dampened by the horrible, sad past?”

The moment Hubert regains control of his tongue, he takes a deep breath. That alone has Bernadetta sinking back into her seat, all the previous confidence she’d just worked up slowly seeping through the floor.

“You,” he finally starts after a moment to compose himself, “know _nothing_ about Ferdinand and I.”

Bernadetta stands up suddenly, her chair skidding with a scrape along the wooden floor as she does. If Hubert were to turn and watch her, or even lift his eyes from where they’re focused on his own cup of coffee, he might catch the tears that had already formed in her eyes before she turns away and walks quickly to the door.

He waits until he hears it shut, and then his shoulders slouch.

Bernadetta has always been his confidant when he had none, the only other person on this earth who could understand the torture and turmoil of having two sets of memories from a young age. They’d always helped each other and grew close as a result, almost like siblings in their mutual support.

But that in no way means they always understand  _ each other _ \--and it gives her no more authority in that which has become more precious to him with Edelgard’s happiness assured.

Speaking as if she truly knows him… like she knows  _ Ferdinand _ like he does, or every delicate thing that’s happening between them? It’s naivety. It’s  _ ignorance _ and  _ arrogance-- _ it’s nothing he needs right now.

Hubert isn’t sure how long he sits there, letting his drink grow cold and the food stale as his nails bite crescent moons into his palms as if they were forming the mountains of a map on his skin. It’s been quite some time since he was made to feel as angry as this at anybody besides himself, and there isn’t any good outlet nearby to take out this horrid, restless frustration. It isn’t like he possesses any magic that he can let loose to exert himself without simply punching a hole through the wall.

Just as he decides to stand and take a walk outside of the hotel, the electronic ‘click’ of the door unlocking stops him on his feet. The door opens, and instead of Bernadetta returning to apologize like a part of him expects, his current visitor is much more welcome.

Ferdinand frowns at the state of the table. “Ah, I should’ve expected you had already eaten--and here I was leaving early so this wouldn’t get cold.” As he speaks, he lifts up the to-go coffee cup in his other hand, lips quirked in a little smile as he enters. The door closes behind him, much gentler than the last time it shut.

“...ah, you left early on my account?” It doesn’t sound half as teasing as Hubert intends, maybe a little more fond and touched than he actually is, and yet Ferdinand looks embarrassed nonetheless.

“Well, I’d look even worse if I went through all the trouble and brought you  _ cold _ coffee, wouldn’t I? Not that it matters now, I suppose.”

Hubert looks down at the half filled cup of coffee on the table before him--that one is  _ definitely  _ cold, now. “No, I’ll take it. Hotel coffee is never good, anyways.”

He sits back down as Ferdinand approaches, filling the seat that Bernadetta had left empty. As he sets the cup down in front of Hubert, the pastries left partially eaten don’t go unnoticed. “Was Bernadetta here?”

“Briefly. She forgot something.”

“Ah, right, she and Petra are venturing out on their own today, right?”

It seems Bernadetta isn’t the only one who ‘forgot’ something, as the fact completely slipped Hubert’s mind; for the next two days, they won’t be travelling as a group. Petra and Ferdinand’s interests have aligned for the most part, but to make the most of what time they have left, they’d decided to simply split up and cover what they were least enthusiastic about for each other by themselves. Naturally, Bernadetta had agreed to go with Petra, and Hubert with Ferdinand. As if there was any other option.

Hubert only briefly hesitates before reaching for the coffee, and the warmth that meets his palm as he curls his fingers around it brings instant relief. There’s something inherently comforting about the smell of his favorite drink, warmth seeping between his fingers, and Ferdinand’s voice filling his ears. It’s nostalgic as much as it is comforting just for everything the moment is, of being together and enjoying each other’s company once again.

He takes a sip of the coffee--it may not be hand brewed by Ferdinand himself, but it’s the perfect order he would give at a cafe. Maybe that’s the modern equivalent of what their tea time has become, he thinks to himself with a little smile that finally returns to his face. Memorizing each other’s starbucks orders instead of the time it takes to properly steep tea leaves. He’ll convince himself it has just as much weight. The longer he thinks about it, the longer there are no longer dingey hotel beds and uncomfortable chairs, the smell of cleaning products and the sounds of children in the next few rooms over.

The longer he thinks about it, the closer it feels to being in a war room, freshly vacated of all others while only two remain, pushing their seats closer together as a tray with a kettle is brought out from hiding.

Hubert continues, careful to keep up the appearance of a man who doesn’t and has never daydreamed. “Yes, and you have plans of your own to visit elsewhere, do you not?”

Ferdinand puffs up immediately, not unlike a bird preening its feathers as his hands occupy themselves in his hair. As he speaks, he tangles up a loose braid, more for the sake of moving than anything. “Of course! The cathedral we’ll be visiting is one I have had on my bucket list for years now, it’s practically as ancient as the lands I’ve been studying--that’s a joke, by the way. It was built two hundred years ago.”

“I’ve seen pictures, but I’ve never visited. One of Edelgard’s previous wedding planners tried to have her marry there instead, despite her insistence on avoiding any religious locations for the ceremony.”

“Is that why you decided to do most of the work for her?” Ferdinand asks, a curious little smile on his face that makes Hubert feel like he’s walking into a trap.

But a trap by Ferdinand’s design is typically more interesting sprung than tiptoed around. He presses the trigger deliberately. “It is. None were willing to go through the extra trouble to do everything perfectly.”

“Had you ever planned a wedding before?”

Hubert blinks slowly, unimpressed in a way that says ‘do I  _ look _ like I’ve planned a wedding before?’

It makes Ferdinand chuckle. “You’re actually a rather generous person, aren’t you?”

The sardonic, exasperated look on Hubert’s face quickly falls, surprised by the sudden compliment. It isn’t very often that people are kind to Hubert in their words, much less for the sake of saying anything nice  _ about _ him. “Generous? Hardly, I would never do it for anybody else.”

Ferdinand quickly counters his dismissal. “You invited me--and Petra--along for our work.”

“Bernadetta and I needed guests to fill the seats. It was convenient that our interests aligned.”

“I’ll stand by my point that you didn’t  _ have _ to invite us, but I don’t think that’s the only evidence.”

“We’ve hardly known each other long enough for you to have any inclination as to my relationships with anyone besides you.”

“But I’ve read your books.”

The mention catches him off guard. Even though Hubert had said he was remaining here for inspiration for the next novel, it was all a blatant lie. Hubert hasn’t thought about those books in weeks--there isn’t any  _ need _ to, right now. Edelgard is married and happy, their other friends are similarly thriving, and the last end that Hubert needed to tie is sitting before him, right now. He will finish writing them, inevitably, because the story is too important  _ not _ to be told. But for right now, focusing on anything else would be silly if not downright disrespectful.

His books are living before him, moving and breathing and bringing him coffee without being asked and quirking their lips in a “got you” smile.

“I don’t see what my novels have anything to do with it, either,” he finally thinks to say, realizing he was quiet a few seconds too long.

But, it’s just enough time for Ferdinand to decide he’s won whatever discussion they’re having, and the man leans forward, crossing his arms on the table. “Then you don’t truly understand how much someone can learn about you from your writing, do you? To think, you’ve put yourself on display for so many people to read and understand so intimately, and yet you seem surprised to hear about it now.”

His lip turns in a grimace. “People do  _ not _ understand me just from reading some… some little  _ fantasy _ novel that I’ve written. A person is more complex than just words on a page.”

Ferdinand’s face changes. Ah, right, perhaps Hubert shouldn’t refer to that which connected them in the first place and is the culmination of their previous lives’ work ‘little.’ Not that Ferdinand would know that, not consciously. He can only hope that the offense he takes to Hubert deprecating his own work is a result of his memories returning and recognizing his own story, as is his hope for every day. “Don’t call it some little fantasy novel, it’s part of the reason we’re here. I may have more vivid dreams than you, but they are still  _ real _ .”

“...right, I apologize.” 

For the sake of growing close, Hubert  _ had _ told him he had those same visions, hadn’t he. It wasn’t a lie, not at first, but he’s never been able to give Ferdinand the updates about his dreams in the same way Ferdinand will excitedly fill Hubert in on his. He’s let Ferdinand take the upper hand as far as their shared experiences go, and now look at how cocky he’s become--’ _ more vivid dreams than you _ ’, it’s almost laughable. 

Hubert continues. “Still, I don’t think it’s possible to tell that much about a person just from a fictional story. I simply came up with a plot for the scenes I was familiar with from dreams.”

A simple apology is all it takes for the smile to return to Ferdinand’s face--ah, and it’s that horrible, unreadable expression of his, too. The crinkle at the corners of his eyes alone makes Hubert’s stomach turn uncomfortably. “I disagree. I think… I think you can learn a lot about a person. You wrote those characters, too, and all of their emotions and desires, after all… So, I know you’re a good person, as hard as you might try to appear aloof and uncaring.”

The words strike Hubert like a cold blade suddenly shoved through his back between his ribs, unexpected as they are. He doesn’t react visibly, having gotten rather good at concealing the horror that comes with an all too intimate sense of déjà vu that follows a familiar face.

Rarely does he ever hear the exact  _ words _ from his past, though, and as Ferdinand continues to speak, Hubert lip syncs his next sentence behind his coffee cup, hidden from sight.

He knows what he will say all too well. It had stuck with him so vividly, after all, a moment of light and warmth on a typical ride he hadn’t thought anything of when they left the stables.

“But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

It’s a deep ache in Hubert’s chest that he’s become rather accustomed to, but the familiarity doesn’t make it hurt any less. Even though Ferdinand’s voice has always been his own, and he’s always looked the same, there’s some certain quality of  _ more _ in hearing those exact same words once again.

In the past, they had turned his heart upside down, changed something in how he interacted with the man.

Today, it does the same--because he knows it’s another request, another  _ plea _ from the Ferdinand he once knew to be rescued. He isn’t giving up. On this tour of theirs through the new deadlands of what was once their Empire, their home and their love, he is only growing more eager to be fully restored and brought back to consciousness and glory once more.

“You had better not,” Hubert finally says, the quirk of his lips feeling far more fond than he intends. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

He’s in there. Hubert knows it. With each passing day, he comes closer and closer, their bond slowly returning to what it once was. Perhaps the way in which Ferdinand is learning him and comes back around to him is different, but he’s merely being led on by the vague memories he once held, isn’t he? It’s only natural that they’d be drawn together. Hell, he might go so far as to call it fate if he were feeling sentimental.

(And judging by how quickly he found Edelgard, how the rest of their army and friends fell into his lap as he was growing up, Hubert isn’t so quick to discredit the notion.)

It’s impossible to know what the cathedral Ferdinand’s taking them to tomorrow will hold. In his heart, Hubert holds onto hope that feels more like a childish  _ want  _ or  _ demand  _ that he can only pray will come true. 

Somehow, he knows it will. The city that they’re in, the ruins of Enbarr and the Empire itself have already provided so much towards saving Ferdinand from this life of mediocrity and ignorance.

Tomorrow will be an important day for them.

Hubert has a good feeling about it.

* * *

_"As for you, Ferdinand, your charge has finally been decided," Edelgard says, bent over the map on the war table briefly before she straightens herself up. She meets Ferdinand's eye across the room, standing around with the rest of the generals they've gathered to discuss the impending march of the Kingdom's army. Everyone else has already been given their assignments after a great length of discussion awarded to each individually. Edelgard is not one to simply prepare baseless assignments without the input of those who will be responsible for them, after all. It's why this current announcement does not catch anybody off guard._

_Ferdinand stands tall, immediately crossing an arm over his chest out of respect, with a smile not suited for war as much as the hero who has already won. "Yes, Your Majesty."_

_At her side, Hubert has already glanced down to where her finger remains on the map, following the heavy ink roads from Enbarr to her nail. The orders shouldn't come as a surprise to anybody, especially not he who has been present in every council and war meeting along with Edelgard. Ferdinand has made good work at this location previously along with their other trusted soldiers, and he is already beloved by the citizens living there. It is a good strategy. It is a good decision, one that Hubert personally vouched for. Ferdinand had, too._

_"You will be stationed at one of our most important lines of defense. Dimitri and the Professor should be approaching within the next two months," she instructs. _ _"_ _You must do all that you can to protect the Bridge of Myrddin."_

_Ferdinand bows at the waist. When he looks back up, his eyes are hard, filled with a determined fire that almost gives Hubert hope. Those eyes land on him briefly, his smile just momentarily directed to Hubert as well before returning to their Emperor._

_"You have my word; I am prepared to give my lance, name, and life to the Empire."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is one ive been waiting for since the beginning of this fic, i'm very excited


	8. If You Hold On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do i even try bothering to apologize for the delay anymore
> 
> i wrote this while procrastinating schoolwork please enjoy

_ The return of soldiers and battalions are usually celebrated with cheers from the townspeople at the very least. Even those commoners and nobles who know not the specifics of why they are fighting still know that winning is a good thing, and their soldiers deserve to be celebrated. Although there is not time to grant every general and soldier a feast upon their return before the next plans for battle must be put into place, the celebration and good humor of the people they are fighting to protect offers minimal reward. _

_ That is, should they win. _

_ Hubert watches the procession from one of the higher balconies of the palace, too far to make out the faces of the soldiers even if they didn’t hang their heads low. Their march through the capital is a slow meander, and though the townspeople have surrounded the streets to watch them return home, they do not cheer; Enbarr is silent. _

_ Normally, Hubert would sneer at the soldiers who turned on their country and fled a losing battle. Their job, their honor, is to die for their country, and there is no use for a pawn that can no longer capture pieces. They have no place in the streets of Enbarr, the capital of the Empire that they failed. There is no home here for them to return to. But today, he has no choice but to allow them entry. _

_ Marching at the front, among all the carts covered with bloody sheets and sunken faces, one carriage proceeds just slightly faster than the rest. The rider has her head bent down, not even looking at the streets before her as the guards part at the gate and allow her entry before all the other soldiers. _

_ Yes, the only purpose those soldiers serve now is to simply bring  _ him _ home. _

_ Hubert doesn’t know how long he stands there, watching each dirty survivor come through the gates until there are no more. The townspeople exchange silent looks, shaking their heads as if they could ever understand, and return to their houses. _

_ The only other way he knows that time has passed is the dip of the sun below the cityscape, and then the voice that speaks to him from behind. _

_ “Hubert,” Edelgard says, and he  _ wishes _ she was simply giving him orders so she didn’t use that quiet, sincere voice of hers that makes his stomach twist in disgust. Just command me, he wants to lash out. Do not dare speak of what we both know must be said. _

_ “My Emperor.” _

_ “Will you not come see him?” _

_ “What is left of him, you mean.” _

_ There is silence for a moment. “I have seen him myself. He is decent.” _

_ For some reason (he knows the reason), those words make his blood boil. “ _ Decent _ \--” he begins to say, raising his voice as he turns around to properly rage-- _

_ Only to be cut off by the appearance of his longest friend, standing at the door with wet, red eyes, her brows furrowed in what he knows to be a similar anger. Not at him, though, and not at herself like Hubert’s is for just that split second. _

_ “We will succeed in this war, Hubert,” she says, her voice a quiet thunder that could command the entire Empire should they turn their ear. “We will avenge him, and everyone else who has lost their lives for the Empire’s sake. However… will  _ you  _ truly not regret not going to see him one last time?” _

_ The thought alone is enough to make bile rise in his stomach. The situation alone is enough to make him wish to disappear. He is unsure of how to address these emotions, these unseemly feelings when his Emperor is present. She can understand, to some extent, the loss of a very dear friend; Edelgard treasured him too. _

_ But did Edelgard take tea with him each day, once, then twice because they had too many conversations that needed to be picked up later? Did she find a new sun in his smile, a hope for the future when there had only ever been purpose, a reason to picture his own life in the history that they’re weaving? An idea, for the first time in his life, that there may be a place for him, by his side, and that, maybe, after all, after everything, he could find happiness among the success of war? _

_ That his dirty, bloodied hands, could be held by another? _

_ Did she know him? Did she understand him, his arrogance, his naivety and his strength, his unwavering bravery and loyalty, and that silly joke that Hubert never thought was funny until he continued to laugh about it, making Hubert decide to pay more attention in other conversations for similar stories or anecdotes that might make that man laugh the same way? _

_ Hubert can see him in his head now, pale, cold, and torn open. The image has not left his mind since the first messenger arrived, in both sleep and the waking world. He knows it will never leave. _

_ He turns back to the balcony, resting shaking hands on the railing as he looks back out over the city. With how quiet the streets are, one might think the entire capital empty. It would hardly make a difference. _

_ “I will not.” _

* * *

Like each before, the journey to their next stop is lovely, going by train to the cathedral that Hubert might as well be an  _ expert _ on now from Ferdinand’s prattling. Aside from his own research billions of years into the past, it appears Ferdinand is interested in more modern history as well--modern being the last few centuries or thousands of years. Hubert makes a joke of it to pass time on the few hour long train ride, using the internet on his phone to try and trip Ferdinand up by quizzing him on very recent history. Funnily enough, he does rather well--but Hubert can’t help but laugh at how much  _ more _ he talks about the few ancient history questions that he slides in.

“How can you just  _ barely _ remember the name of our last prime minister, but be able to recite every single heir of a kingdom that was only standing for one thousand years?” Hubert scoffs, a cocky little smile on his face as he leans back in his seat.

Across from him, Ferdinand crosses his arms, appearing more frustrated than he is for the sake of it. A little teasing can go a long way with this one. “Oh, be quiet. If I were to quiz you on your own  _ book _ , of course you would know it better than any piece of fictional media that’s popular right now.”

“It is  _ fascinating _ to me how you couldn’t even think of a single popular series to use as an example.”

“I  _ know _ series, Hubert, I was just saying so for the sake of argument.”

“Name one movie that is extremely popular right now, quickly.”

Ferdinand’s lips purse, looking out the window at the bright green fields passing by. It isn’t conducive to a quick answer by any means, but it does award Hubert with a rather nostalgic profile of his previous friend and comrade deep in thought. He halfway expects Ferdinand to refute some battle strategy they’re discussing when he turns back to look at him, which only makes his next words all the more jarring.

“ _ Arrogance and Biases _ .”

Hubert’s brows rise and he bites the inside of his cheek to fight a smile that he  _ knows _ would have his companion ranting at him. “The period romance film from fifteen years ago?”

His cheeks warm, a dusting on pink appearing over his nose. “It just got added to Netflix, everyone is talking about it again.”

“That isn’t a  _ recent _ movie that’s popular right now. I mean something new, like the  _ Battle of Regency, _ or  _ Love in Close Quarters _ ,” Hubert is quick to refute. “You cannot expect me to be impressed that you’ve seen a  _ classic _ that’s been out for fifteen years already. It’s bare minimum.”

“One, you didn’t specify it had to be recent, and two,” Ferdinand holds up his fingers as he counts, a sly smile rising to his lips as he tips his chin up. “ _ Love in Close Quarters _ ? Really, Hubert? I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

“It is Edelgard’s favorite, don’t look at me like that.  _ You’re _ the one who admitted to having only seen  _ Arrogance and Biases _ which is only every teenager in a literature’s class standard of romance.”

“Oh, so you’ve seen it, too? Maybe you really  _ are _ more of a romantic than you let on--ah, we’re stopping.”

Beneath them, the train begins to slow, grinding against the rails and gently rocking its passengers forward. It’s a difficult stop to see coming, given that the station is nestled alone at the edge of town just before the other buildings come into view from the perspective of the windows. Hubert and Ferdinand take the time to reassemble their things, packing up what they’d brought out for the ride and wait patiently for their turn to unboard.

The town itself is rather small, in spite of the large tourist population the cathedral brings. It’s one of the few successful efforts to preserve the natural beauty of the area surrounding, given the scenery is half of the attraction, nestled between sloping mountains that meet in the middle around a large lake. The cathedral itself was planted just at the edge of the lake, and from the station, it’s difficult to believe it isn’t the ocean from just how far the water stretches. Hubert nearly expects to be hit with the scent of saltwater, receiving only that ancient smell of worn stone and old furnishings instead.

Ferdinand explains everything about the region as they go, from the construction of the first train station here decades ago while they unboard, to how the town has made its own living apart from the rest of the country while they grab lunch at a trendy little cafe, and so on. They aren’t uninteresting tales by any means, and Hubert is sure that he would be able to pay a bit more attention if he weren’t waiting for Ferdinand to begin reciting a different sort of story.

Historic and lovely as the town is, there is more to it than just that.

They’re here for a reason.

Somewhere, between the old, preserved cathedral, or the shambled rooftops of the old village, or the quaint cobblestone of the roads, there is a memory waiting to be unlocked. Something of their past, a life and a war so far from this stupidly simple and peaceful world. Evidence they lived and died. Evidence that  _ Ferdinand _ lived and died. How the mayor switched the leading architect for the town hall halfway through its construction holds no weight in Hubert’s heart.

That being said… 

“Hubert, we must go this way--the best view of the lake is from the cathedral’s courtyard, it’s a well kept secret by the locals that it’s actually open to the public,” Ferdinand insists, a bright grin on his face as they take the steps up to the holy building by two.

Ferdinand is having the time of his life. While Hubert cannot find as much interest in his stories, he knows Ferdinand derives enjoyment just from being able to recite them and have somebody listen, let alone the experience of actually being here. Knowledgeable about so much as he is, he’s unfortunately not well traveled, and Hubert suspects this may be the most exciting trip he’s ever taken. He’d talked about it briefly before, how he would take vacations with his family only to never be able to visit the places and sights he wished to see. It’s enough to make Hubert start planning his excuses to take more trips in the future.

“Do you not wish to go inside?” Hubert asks, somewhat confused as they reach the top of the stairs only to walk around the fenced in perimeter of the building instead. It’s still well decorated, essentially a line of gardens with small trees and benches that one can easily picture any old woman sitting at to feed birds. The chatter of the other few tourists they’d arrived with falls into the background as they come around to the side of the church and continue towards the back, the only noise now being the heavy footfalls of their own shoes against the old stone.

“Mm… perhaps later,” Ferdinand says, slowing his step as he realizes that Hubert is a few paces behind him. He offers an apologetic smile. “Though it may be the main attraction to most, I find myself more eager to enjoy the scenery. You’re welcome to split up and go inside if you wish.”

Hubert scoffs and continues at his side. “I’ve already expressed my aversion to religion; this is fine.”

That answer seems to content Ferdinand. They take the corner of the building together, turning out to the courtyard behind the cathedral at the same time.

It’s something out of a photobook. The lake is an enormous thing that stretches far beyond the eye can see, but over the horizon one can just barely make out the silhouettes of the same mountain range they’re between now. The peaks surrounding them curve up to shield the valley from the rest of the world, trapping this scene in its perfect bubble away from the terrors of the modern world that may seek to disturb it. If he let himself drift, Hubert could believe they have actually walked back through time while going around the cathedral, and they truly are hundreds of years in the past.

Until he feels his phone vibrating in his pocket. Hubert quickly reaches down to silence the little noise, only glancing at the screen briefly to see a text message from Bernadetta in what seems to be an apology. It was only a matter of time until she contacted him again. “Sorry,” he says, unsure as to why he’s apologizing to Ferdinand of all people for pulling out his phone. He means to either explain or excuse the interruption, but turning to look at his company, all the words he’d been debating are quickly lost.

Ferdinand didn’t even notice Hubert had moved, let alone said anything. He’s leaned on the iron railing, eyes slightly squinted as the clouds reveal more of the sun and brighten the valley. Even though they’ve been together all day, all  _ week _ even, it feels as if Hubert is just seeing him again for the first time as a breeze rolls by to remind him of that impossibly beautiful hair that traps every ounce of sunlight pouring down on them. An easy, simple smile graces his lips as he watches the clouds and the small waves in the lake slowly roll by, completely entranced and unaware of his surroundings. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say he’s  _ too _ aware of his surroundings.

He’s beautiful, a dumb, simplistic part of Hubert that has lost all eloquence thinks. If he could, he would beat that little voice in his head senseless, because he knows that Ferdinand is  _ so much more _ than that.

He’s the sun itself, the culmination of everything good and a place to rest from everything else that is so bad. He is a walking memory of a time that should haunt him, yet somehow carrying only the best pieces of a world that’s since ended. No one else will ever fully understand him, not in the way Hubert did and does still. Beautiful as he may be, will anyone else ever know how much more there is to him?

If the goddess truly exists, then Hubert was put on this earth again for two reasons; to see Edelgard’s happiness through, and to properly behold Ferdinand. To be put in charge of her two most lovely creations is a blessing, he thinks, though he will stand by the fact she never existed in the first place. Merely a result of being at a cathedral for so long, he tells himself.

Naturally, it’s Ferdinand who interrupts his thoughts, but he isn’t speaking directly to Hubert. His head stays forward, eyes focused on the horizon before them.

“It’s different than I remember.”

They are not the words he expected, but perhaps the ones he needed to hear. Of all the beauty this little town has to offer, of course Ferdinand would rediscover a piece of himself here at the most dazzling spot of them all.

Slowly, Hubert turns his head forward as well, as if the answer to the questions spinning in his head are somewhere under the sparkling blue waves of the lake. There’s no longer any need to play coy. “How do you remember it?” he asks carefully.

“Not near as peaceful and empty as it is now. I can remember standing here, just like this… but it wasn’t a cathedral.”

Hubert gives a nod. “What was it?”

“A fort,” he answers without hesitation as Hubert slowly pieces the memory together for him. “And in front of us, across the lake, it was one long stretch of stone and barricades…”

It isn’t a particularly difficult description to place. Adrestia didn’t hold many lakes, much less any that would have a fort sitting right on top of it. The only thing he could be remembering is… Hubert feels his fingers tighten on the railing, and he lifts a hand to cover his mouth.

Even now, billions of years later, he can still remember the image of a corpse he refused to see.

Ferdinand continues to speak, oblivious to the turmoil tearing into the man beside him. Who’s to say if he even notices Hubert is there at all, anymore than a voice prompting him further into the memories he’s picking up, distracted by his own missing pieces. “We knew they were coming before we saw the banners… we went to meet them at the end of the bridge, before they could get too far. There was a large battle, and so much blood. It covers everyone’s faces, and you can’t tell anyone apart, and then… they appeared.”

Hubert’s brows knit together in confusion, momentarily breaking him out of the fugue he’d fallen into. “Who appeared, during the battle?” Unless he means the Kingdom’s reinforcements, but the victory was so assured, why would they have called for them? He looks back to Ferdinand to question him--

His face has gone white. The peaceful serenity he’d worn while observing the surroundings earlier has been wiped off his face, now in a petrified daze with his wide eyes still glued to the horizon. Hubert can’t even assume Ferdinand heard him with the way that he looks as if he’s somewhere else completely, far from where they’re standing now. It feels as if Hubert could make to touch him, only a foot apart, and still not reach.

Ferdinand did, however, hear him. It calls upon a more recent memory of Hubert’s, of talks over coffee, and the only person who remained in Ferdinand’s mind.

“The professor.”

In an instant, Ferdinand suddenly leans over, relying on the railing to remain upright with a noise of pain. Hubert crosses the small gap between them to be at his side in an instant, and yet when he arrives, his hands hover in the air, unsure. Nothing has happened, and yet Ferdinand’s breath comes out in labored, uneven gasps, a layer of sweat covering his face and visible through the shirt on his back. A few strands of hair have stuck to his face, and he makes no move to brush them aside, and neither does Hubert.

He wants to help--Hubert would never wish suffering on Ferdinand without any reason. It would be so easy to reach forward, to fix his hair and ask him what is wrong. But whatever is happening is only the result of the memory that has returned to Ferdinand, though it has never gone like this before. Never has he seen Ferdinand in this much  _ pain _ , and yet his mind prevents him from reaching out.

If he were to disturb him right now--if Hubert were to try and pull him out of this state--

Would the memory be gone forever?

Would he wake up, dazed and unsure of where he is, unable to recall what had just happened?

He could pull him out of it. He could do it, Hubert thinks, and his hands tremble with the desperate urge to shake Ferdinand out of this spell. It does him no service to see him agonize like this, physically pained by the memory of a battle playing out that only Hubert knows the ending of.

But he knows he should not interfere; it isn’t Hubert’s memory, it’s Ferdinand’s. He has no right to get in the way, to stop him from recollecting what he is due to, no matter how painful.

So Hubert remains silent, biting his lip and remaining close by to pay witness to a moment that has haunted him for decades now. He could not be there when Ferdinand met his fate in their lifetime--but he is here now. If nothing else, he has an obligation to witness him, as the only person on this earth who could understand him.

Even if Hubert can feel his heart breaking in its cage.

“Their eyes,” Ferdinand pants, voice laden with terror. “Those  _ eyes _ , they looked at me, and even though they recognized me, I--”

Ferdinand suddenly falls to his knees, unable to keep himself upright--no, he’s let go of the railing, and as Hubert kneels beside him, he realizes why.

His hands are clutching at his chest over his heart.

It only takes Hubert a second to throw away everything he’d just agonized over. “ _ Ferdinand! _ ” Already at his side, he reaches out, pulling the man into his chest with an arm around his shoulders. Ferdinand goes easily, not resisting, probably not even noticing he’s being touched as he shudders and gasps for breath that doesn’t come.

It isn’t just the memory of a battle anymore, Hubert thinks, the realization dawning on him in horror; he’s recalling his own  _ death _ .

His fingers claw at his chest, desperately covering a phantom wound that Hubert cannot see. There was never any need to prepare an autopsy for a corpse found on a battlefield, as the cause of death for many hardly mattered. They died in battle--there was no description of how Ferdinand was discovered for him to read, and without going to view the corpse himself, Hubert would have never known where that monstrous professor had cut him open.

It is the answer to a question he never asked, nor one he ever wanted, and all he can do is watch and hold onto Ferdinand through whatever immeasurable pain he’s experiencing. It is all he can do, and it may be just as painful.

Fortunately, (or unfortunately?) it does not last for long. Mere moments after Hubert has pulled him close, all of Ferdinand’s shaking, his sobs of pains and struggling all stop at once as he goes limp. His face which had been previously twisted in agony that’s only experienced once in a person’s life as it comes to a close, falls, his features tense but no longer moving.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert calls, perhaps a little too loudly, as he gives him a small shake only to receive no response. He’s gone unconscious. “Ferdinand-- _ Ferdinand, _ you insufferable--you dramatic--what are you two standing over there watching for!? Call an ambulance, you fucking idiots!  _ Call an ambulance! _ ”

He knows, now, why Ferdinand could only ever remember the professor’s eyes.

They were the last thing he ever saw.

* * *

It takes hours before Bernadetta and Petra arrive.

Given their return flight is the same, they haven’t left the country yet, merely exploring another city when Bernadetta receives the phone call. They have to take a train through most of the afternoon and early evening before they arrive at the hospital. In the hallway, they find Hubert sitting outside in an uncomfortable chair, hunched over with his forehead in his hands. He doesn’t lift his head to greet them.

Hubert updated them over text. There’s no reason for Petra to bother speaking with him, and she quickly bypasses him completely to enter the open room for her friend. Bernadetta remains outside with him, staring down at Hubert in silence for a solid, uncomfortable minute.

“He’ll be fine, though,” she finally says. It’s impossible to tell whether she’s offering reassurance or asking a question. 

Regardless of intention, Hubert nods against his hands. “His health is immaculate, which makes the fact he had a heart attack all the more concerning,” he says. “They’re keeping him overnight to monitor any changes. There haven’t been any.”

Bernadetta lifts her head, peeking into the room to see where Petra has taken a seat of her own by the bedside all covered in white. Ferdinand is laid underneath the covers and is reclined back, hair spread out over the pillow and sleeping soundly. There’s only a few small wires connected to him to monitor his vitals, and at the right angle, one could assume he was merely taking a nap.

“He hasn’t woken up yet, though,” she notes aloud.

“They don’t know why.”

“Do you?”

“You were right.”

She jumps, as if his words themselves had lunged at her, taking a little step backwards with a shake of her head. “H-Hubert, I told you that I was sorry… I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

He heaves a long suffering sigh and covers his eyes with his palms. His fingers bury themselves in now mussed, sweaty hair from the exertion of partway carrying Ferdinand to the hospital himself. “The place he wanted to visit reminded him of the Bridge of Myrddin, Bernadetta. He’s here because he remembered his  _ death _ .”

At that point, Hubert finally moves, standing from the chair and beginning to walk the same way Bernadetta and Petra came. She turns before he can but doesn’t try to physically stop him. As if she could if she wanted to. “Where are you going?”

“Home. I already changed my flight. I’ll be leaving him in your all’s care.”

“You can’t just  _ go! _ ” Bernadetta raises her voice in a rare act of defiance, not dissimilar from how she’d gotten upset at him the other day. It’s enough to stop him, and he turns to watch her over his shoulder, his face pulled into a glare. She isn’t deterred. “What’s happening to Ferdinand is… it’s horrible! He must have been in so much pain, a-and he must have been  _ scared _ , too. I know I would have been.”

That isn’t a word Hubert has considered in all of this, and it gives him pause. It isn’t an irrational conclusion to jump to--Ferdinand probably  _ was _ scared. For how brave and outgoing he’s been about all of his other memories, none of them ever made him react like this. He didn’t know what was happening. He couldn’t have known, and suddenly to feel the pain that he felt… to experience that horrible memory, that  _ sensation _ … 

Hubert shakes his head. “All the more reason that I shouldn’t be here. Like I said, you were right, Bernadetta; he doesn’t need to be ruined with painful memories. It’s enough that he stays the way he is, happy and oblivious, like Petra, Edelgard, and everyone else.”

And Hubert needs to stop being selfish.

He takes a deep breath, looking past Bernadetta into the hospital room where he can see the bump of Ferdinand’s feet beneath the white sheets. From this angle, he can’t see his face, and Hubert is better for it. He never saw Ferdinand’s corpse, and if he were to walk in there now, that would change.

‘Ferdinand’ is dead.

His Ferdinand, the man that he loved billions of years ago, in their own time, is dead, and the man sleeping inside that room could never be him. All Hubert has done is continue to torture him in the selfish pursuit of a man who has long since died in a war that is long since lost.

Before he even realizes it, Bernadetta is in front of him, and before he can react, she is moving.

She reaches up, barely able to reach the back of his neck--and yanks his head down to collide with hers.

He can hear the ‘thud’ of their skulls bashing together over the ringing in his ears, and Hubert stumbles a step backwards while holding the spot on his forehead that is  _ certainly _ going to bruise. “What in the world are you--”

“Stop trying to do everything by yourself!” Bernadetta shouts, far too loud for a hospital hallway, but just loud enough to finally get into Hubert’s thick skull. The headbutt probably helped a bit, too, and he can see where her forehead is already bright red. Who knows if the tears in her eyes are from pain or emotional labor. “Stop trying to decide Ferdinand’s life for him! He… even if I think it was a bad idea, Ferdinand wanted to go, he wanted to reclaim those memories! You didn’t  _ force _ him!”

“I should have  _ stopped _ him--”

“You couldn’t have known this would happen! You’re being so… you’re always like this with all of us, and you always have been!” Bernadetta says with a little stomp of her foot.

“Like what?” he sneers, noticing a dark head of purple hair peek out from the entrance to Ferdinand’s room but not saying anything.

“Acting like you know what’s best for everyone and not even talking to them about it!”

“Because I  _ do _ .”

“When Ferdinand wakes up, what do you think he’s going to be feeling?” she asks, swiftly changing the direction of the conversation.

Hubert rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. This entire discussion is pointless. “Pain, if he isn’t entirely traumatized by the experience.”

“He’s going to be  _ scared _ , Hubert,” Bernadetta finally lowers her voice, as if she’d only just realized how loudly they’re speaking for where they are. It isn’t very often that Bernadetta gets worked up like this, and typically only towards Hubert. When she does, all she can think about is the conversation at hand, completely oblivious to her surroundings or the methods she employs. 

She takes a deep breath, hands tightly clasped together at her chest before she continues in an even tone that’s far more characteristic of the shy young woman he knows. 

“If he remembers or if he doesn’t, I think… he will want to see you. You two were close in the past, and you’ve gotten close now, too--”

He interrupts her. “We aren’t close now.”

“But you--”

“All of our time together I have had ulterior motives, and they have failed. There is nothing else.”

She steps closer, her face instantly flooding red with anger. “ _ But you _ \--!”

Only to be cut off again. This time, it isn’t Hubert, and he watches Bernadetta freeze as a voice behind her interrupts. “Bernie…?”

She whips around, all the redness in her face suddenly drained to pale white horror. He can see the gears turning in her head, doing a mental calculation of anything they may have said that would be damning. “Petra, I-I, we were just… talking…”

“And I was just leaving,” Hubert says, giving Petra a nod before finally turning back the way they came. “Have a good evening.”

Whatever conflict Bernadetta undoubtedly has between chasing Hubert and explaining herself to Petra ends with him leaving undisturbed, walking right back out of the hospital and into the now mid evening air. He can’t blame her for giving in and letting him leave; she has her own life to lead, and Petra is a large part of it. It’s far more important to foster their relationship than see to Hubert’s fuck ups.

When Ferdinand collapsed, Hubert had been sent into a panicked frenzy trying to get medical assistance as quickly as possible only to discover that this lovely, quaint little down is so quaint and little that the nearest hospital was miles away. He doesn’t even remember the name of this city, just the coordinates he sent Bernadetta and the directions to the nearest bus that will take him to the train station.

Wherever it is, it isn’t half as pleasant as the area they had explored earlier today, as long ago as that feels. There’s no cute little cafes that they grab lunch in, no quirky cobblestone roads that Ferdinand somehow knows the entire history of, and certainly no grand cathedral overlooking the lake. The only way he knows the towns are even remotely related is the fact that this city is within the same valley, though the mountains that stretch up around them now make him feel claustrophobic more than anything.

The cool air of the evening does nothing to soothe Hubert, still tense from the discussion. It isn’t until he’s on the bus and heading back to the train station that his shoulders droop, the breath he’s held finally released.

It’s best this way, Hubert tells himself, watching the nondescript city disappear as the view out the window returns to that of the countryside. The man that he has loved for two lifetimes died during the first. Selfishly, cruelly, he tried to mold this reincarnation of his who was finally allowed to be happy back into a man who was who he was due to the horrors of war.

There will never be another Ferdinand von Aegir.

This second life of Hubert’s was meant to mourn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im still on twitter and still obsessed with ferdibert even if i cant WRITE anything these days. also like. theres only one or two more chapters left

**Author's Note:**

> im [@dreisang](https://twitter.com/dreisang) on twitter and ferdibert runs like blood through my veins. go ahead and buckle in for hubert's angsty gay roller coaster


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